


The Illusion of Living

by WhiskerBiscuit



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: But honestly it's a horror game so everybody's fine with that, Gen, Good Bendy - Freeform, Good Boris - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Joey Drew's descent, Minor Body Horror, More as chapters progress - Freeform, Origin Story, Origin of Bendy, Origin of Boris, Sammy Lawrence's descent, Seriously this story gets dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskerBiscuit/pseuds/WhiskerBiscuit
Summary: It was not Bendy who was made first, but Boris. Boris was the first success. The first living cartoon. But when Joey tried again, something - everything - went wrong. A what-if story of events prior to Henry's arrival, and how two wrongs don't make a right.Or, Joey Drew's descent into madness in the last few years before Henry, as told through the eyes of his creations.





	1. Prologue

It was like a jam in a copy machine.

A stutter, a whirring, a jerk, and he was – he just was.

There was pressure, weighing down and crushing and it took him a moment to realize that he needed to do something to make it stop – a gasp and the pressure was gone. But now he had all this, this stuff in him, filling him up and he was going to explode unless – release the gasp. Breathe.

Breathe in, pause. Breathe out. Repeat.

He didn’t do anything else for a while, just concentrated on this bizarre concept, this sensation of aliveness that was foreign and fascinating and necessary. But then something else entered his existence – 

“- alive! I can’t believe it! Oh my god I really did –”

And there was something about this frequency that niggled in his consciousness, that he knew what this sense was called, that he understood it, that he recognized the pitch and timbre despite having never experienced it before. But it was too much to handle and process and he was suddenly drifting away, into a black not unlike the dark screen at the ending Title card. His breath continued, coming in and out, steady and even as he fell into dormancy.

Unaware of this moment, of the brief awareness displayed by the slumbering mass on the table, Joey Drew took off his ink-stained gloves with child-like glee and wonder. He placed his hands next to the creature’s head, shaking in elated euphoria.

“Welcome to the real world, Boris.”

...

Being alive was hard.

Boris learned this the first time he woke up – that is, the first time he opened his eyes. Everything was too colorful and noisy and clear, and he was often confused to the point of being overwhelmed in the first week after his – birth? Creation? Production? Whatever it was, he wasn’t sure what to think. If it wasn’t for Mr. Drew’s patient teaching, he’d be dead by now. Or whatever happened to living cartoons.

Living seemed like everything was good and bad all at once. If he was hungry, his stomach made silly noises that made him laugh deep, quiet laughs that rumbled in his neck (chuckling, Mr. Drew called it). But if he went too long without eating, the noises went away and his stomach would hurt instead. The same thing happened when he tried to fill his body up with bacon soup so he wouldn’t have to worry about eating – his belly hurt and he felt slower and more tired.

Mr. Drew had not been happy with him that day.

There were things that he knew already, things that just needed to be remembered in this strange “3D” place. Things like eating. And sleeping. And language. That last one he’d always had a little trouble with even before he was here.

He was getting better at understanding though. Mr. Drew liked to talk to him while he did stuff. Sometimes he checked Boris’ big floppy ears or his mouth or nose or heartbeat. Other times he asked questions like “how are you feeling today? How many fingers am I holding up? Does anything seem different today?” and then scribble down Boris’ answers on a bunch of papers. And he talked while he did it.

“Can’t believe I’ve done it. Ya know? Everybody said I was a nutcase but we sure proved them wrong, huh Buddy? Took years though. 26, to be exact – not that it matters. I can’t wait to see the look on Henry’s face when he sees you. He’ll probably only raise an eyebrow, the bastard. This is revolutionary, you know that? To think, all the time I spent tampering with that thing and it worked! God, Boris, you’re a miracle. I want you to know that.”

Boris couldn’t keep up with most of it, not yet. But Mr. Drew was excited, and so Boris was excited too.

...

It got really lonely in the studio sometimes.

Mr. Drew couldn’t stay with Boris all day. He said he had a “job” and needed money. When Boris asked why his job wasn’t taking care of the ink machine (for it broke down often and made quite the mess), Mr. Drew had snorted, shook his head and mumbled “I wish” before heading out the door. He also didn’t want to sleep over when he came for late night visits, and when Boris asked about that, Mr. Drew had told him that he needed real human contact.

Boris was lying to himself if he said he wasn’t a little offended by that.

So, some days he had several hours of nothing before Mr. Drew came back, and he spent most of them learning about the place he called home. He was strictly forbidden from going near the ink machine without Mr. Drew to watch him, but there were other rooms with other things that kept his interest for a while. He loved the film room especially. Most of the reels didn’t work anymore, but those that did were mesmerizing – especially when he was in it. He liked to watch the movements he made on screen and compare them to how he moved now. He wasn’t as bouncy, that was for sure.

There were two other characters on the screen sometimes too. One was pretty, with long black hair and two horns – or ears, it was hard to tell – and a shiny ring floating above her head. Mr. Drew had explained that her name was Alice, and that she was an angel with the most beautiful voice in the world.

He got really quiet after that, and Boris was afraid to ask anything else.

The other character was one he’d seen on almost every poster in the hallways. His name was Bendy the Dancing Demon, and, from what Boris could tell, he was funny and playful and sometimes rude. He was smaller on the screen than Boris or even Alice, with two curved horns atop his head and a snazzy bowtie. He also had the biggest smile Boris had ever seen, and it was hard not to smile along with him.

Mr. Drew explained that Bendy was the best thing that had happened to the studio, and how he was their first real cartoon that got really popular, and how “if it wasn’t for Bendy, you probably wouldn’t exist, onscreen or off.”

Boris had been a little confused at that. “Well golly gee Mr. Drew, why isn’t Bendy here instead of me?”

“Because I wanted to make sure this worked. You’re an experiment, Boris. An amazing one, of course, don’t worry, but a first trial in any case. Once I’m sure you’re stable and functional, we’ll see if we can bring the little devil darlin’ out of the big screen, yeah?”

Well that seemed mighty fine.

At one point in his exploration, Boris had opened the door to a dusty old storage room and found at least 30 cardboard cutouts of Bendy in his basic standing pose. To prepare for the day when he had a fellow cartoon living with him, he took out several and placed them in different spots throughout the studio. Mr. Drew didn’t seem to mind it at all. Originally they were just anywhere Boris could find room for them, but two days later Mr. Drew had turned the corner into the film room and was thoroughly startled by a Bendy propped up in the shadows on the wall on his right side. 

Boris moved them to places with better lighting after that.

...

The first time the world outside the studio was brought up, it was in a scathing monologue by Mr. Drew. He had arrived in a bad mood and grumbled through everything he did, and, at the tentative inquiry from Boris as to what was wrong, was thoroughly prompted into a combination of swearing, spitting, and striking the closest wall in his reach. His nervous listener couldn’t help but flinch at every word that wasn’t properly censored, nor could he help becoming completely confused after the first 20 seconds, but one thing was clear:

Mr. Drew did not like the outside world. He didn’t like the way it worked, the way it operated, the way people – and he quoted: “go through their lives content with mediocracy in second-rate jobs and uninspiring interests. What utter nonsense.”

After his rant, Mr. Drew had locked himself in one of the work rooms and didn’t come out for over an hour, and Boris was left to ponder at the things he could understand. Ultimately, he decided that if the world was that dull and uncreative, then he was fine staying right here, please and thank you. He announced his decision later after Mr. Drew came back out and apologized, and his creator chuckled and told him he’d made the right choice. They spent the rest of the evening haphazardly repairing the new hole in the wall with any spare wooden boards they found, and soon there was simply a sloppy, partly-covered gap with quite the drafty chill.

It would be the first of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has all already been posted on Fanfiction.net, but I'm having serious writer's block right now (ugh) and I thought maybe if I posted it again the creative juices might start flowing (also the BATIM community seems a little more active over here, which is cool). Please let me know what you think!


	2. The Cello Plays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an unwilling but curious musician is brought into the mix.

Joey marked another day off his calendar and stepped back, pleased. Nearly four months since Boris the Wolf had come to life, and there were no apparent side-effects. The creation was healthy; it wasn’t falling back into a puddled mess (like some of the more unfortunate past attempts); it could eat and drink; it had even learned speech, movement, and expression of emotion faster than anticipated.

Was it arrogant to call himself a genius after this? He didn’t think so.

Sitting back down at his tiny dining table, Joey considered his options. He was relieved that the cartoon had no interest in leaving the studio, at least for now. But he knew that he needed some way to keep it occupied – Boris knew the first floor of the building inside and out now, and the restlessness was beginning to show. It wasn’t allowed to go upstairs or down, mostly because Joey hadn’t bothered to keep maintenance as much as he probably should have in recent years, and the last thing he needed was for the creation to electrocute itself or fall down a shaft to its death. Then everything would go to waste and he’d have nothing to show for it. Again.

But the wolf needed something to do. It had started conversing with the cutouts, for god’s sake.

An idea formed in his mind like a switch to a lightbulb. Maybe the cartoon wasn’t really a cartoon anymore, but it had so far retained its personality and manner of speaking. It might have retained other things as well.

Perhaps musical talent was one of them.

Joey grinned like the little devil as he jumped up and ran for his bedroom. Under piles of doodles and schematics and theories, there was a tattered old booklet filled with numbers from nearly three decades past.

...

To say Samuel Lawrence was irritated was the understatement of this decade. He had come home from a rough day at work – a deadbeat job at a pathetic excuse for a record shop giving music lessons to anyone willing to stay longer than a minute – to a rough night at his apartment – damn landlord and his hounding, asking about money and noise and _why can’t you play those things somewhere else, Sammy?_

“Those things” were worth more than the sorry sod’s life, in Sammy’s humble opinion.

And now, and now, he had gotten a phone call from the bastard that had ruined his life.

“I told you I didn’t want anything to do with you.”

“I know, Sammy, I know, but just hear me out –”

“No, I won’t hear you out. Go find someone else to drag into your next business venture so you can suddenly stop paying them and send them packing without a backup plan.” He hung up and stalked into the kitchen to make some dinner.

The phone rang again within a minute. He ignored it, pulling out a pan and placing it on the stovetop. It stopped after six rings and he grabbed a box of macaroni. As he was ripping the cardboard seal the phone started up again, and it startled him into dropping the half-open box. Hard pasta scattered everywhere and the musician let out some choice words.

Half an hour later and a partly-finished bowl of Kraft and Joey was still trying, so finally Sammy jerked the phone off the receiver with a growl.

“What the actual fuck, Joey?!”

“I’m sorry, I really am, but this is important.”

“Important enough to wait twenty-something years for before apologizing?”

“That’s not, I’m not – look. You said you were going to make it big, right? Have your music heard ‘round the world and all that?”

Sammy grit his teeth. “What do you care, you hung me out to dry.”

“Well, what if I told you it could still happen? I’ve got something that’ll blow your mind.”

“It better not be related to that effing ink machine, pal, because I swear to god –”

“Just please come back to the studio, please. If you still have a clarinet, bring it. Bring any instruments you have. It’ll be worth it, trust me.”

Fingers threatening to break the cord, Sammy spit out a quick “I’ll think about it” and banged the phone hard against its stand. He dropped on the couch in exhausted anger, pinching the bridge of his nose and running the other hand through messy hair. He hated that man. God how he hated him.

But his traitorous brain was already curious. He knew the brilliance Joey Drew was capable of – or used to be, in any case. Those last few months working at Sillyvision had been nothing short of an inky hell, and he’d be damned before he got caught in a situation like that again. And yet…

There was nothing for him here. Nowhere to go, nobody to impress, nothing worthwhile at all. He’d be lucky to save enough for retirement without selling any of his precious instruments. And Joey sounded excited. Not manic, like he’d been near the end of the company’s downfall. Just desperate. Desperate for Sammy’s talent. What could he possibly want?

Narrowed eyes roamed across the room where a beautiful bass cello sat in its dusty case, having been untouched for years.

Well. It was only a ten minute drive from here.

What was the harm in one visit?

...

There was a lot of harm, apparently.

Sammy stared, wide-eyed and opened mouthed, at the monstrosity before him. At least six feet tall, the creature looked like something straight out of a horror film. Bug eyes, giant maw, hands that could squeeze the life out of you at a moment’s notice, it towered over everything. Sammy felt the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up as the thing watched unblinking and unmoving from across the room. Cold sweat was making it hard to hold the instrument cases in each hand, the only part of him that still cooperated. If it weren’t for his dedication to never, ever drop an instrument, he’d have already turned tail and ran for his life.

He knew he shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have gotten involved with Joey Drew again. Of all the stupid decisions he’d made in his life (not that there were many) this was the one that’d get him killed. The monster opened its mouth, probably to eat him, probably to – 

It screamed. Sammy screamed. Both of them fell backwards with equal shock, and both made an equally loud crash against the floor.

Joey came running out from the ink machine room and found two partially-dazed individuals scooting away from each other despite being at opposite ends of the room. Sammy held his guitar case out like a weapon, and Boris reached for the closest thing he could grab – a Bendy cutout – and cowered behind it. It was quite the sight. 

“Uh…”

Human and cartoon simultaneously turned to face him, and while Sammy remained gawking on the floor, Boris jumped up with prop in hand and ran behind Joey. He squatted, holding his creator’s pant legs and peeking out over the cardboard cutout. 

It was silent for a minute. Then,

“What the actual fuck, Joey?!”


	3. The Sound of Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy isn't sure about this whole thing. Joey does his best to persuade him. Boris, as usual, gets caught in the middle.

“You better have a good explanation for this.”

Sammy hadn’t moved from his spot by the exit door. He was still planted on his seat with a guitar case in one hand and a violin case in the other, trying to process the living, breathing cartoon currently cowering behind his old employer. 

Said employer sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I was hoping to avoid a big hullabaloo when you met each other.” He sounded more inconvenienced than awkward, like they were blowing something normal out of proportion. Sammy was having none of that.

“Jesus Christ Joey, what’d you think was gonna happen? That’d I’d kick my heels and sing a merry tune and that, that _thing_ would dance along like it’s the goddamn Sound of Music?”

The cartoon peeked around and blinked slowly at Sammy. “Music?” 

“No, I was going to explain the situation and then introduce you! This isn’t how it was supposed to go.” 

“How it was supposed to – you’re crazy if you think I’m coming within a mile of that thing!”

Boris scooted out a little, eyes on the boxed instruments. The men ignored him.

“Listen Sammy, he’s harmless. It’s Boris the Wolf, remember him? He couldn’t hurt a fly if it insulted his mother.”

“Don’t give me any of that! It’s huge! And just because it was friendly in ‘toon world’ or wherever, doesn’t mean shit here. It’s a wolf, for Christ’s sake!”

“If you’d just give me a chance to explain, you’d understand! I swear this is why nobody liked working with you, Sammy. Couldn’t handle change.”

“Can’t handle, can’t handle-! Why you pompous, overbearing son of a –” he froze, suddenly aware of what had moved from behind Joey to right beside him, silent as a snake. Sammy slowly turned his head just in time to see the cartoon reach for the latch of his violin case. He screamed again and it scrambled backwards.

“Now the bastard is trying to get at my instruments! Call it off, Joey! Get away, _get away!_ ”

Boris cried out in alarm as a hand came flying out with intent to hit. He ducked and hid his head under his arms, drawing his knees up in front of him for extra protection. “Please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just wanted ta see the music is all!”

Sammy paused in mid-swing. His gaze ran over the rather pathetic-looking creature turned in on itself, bawling its eyes out and looking like a big mutant kicked puppy. Sammy looked down at his violin, then his guitar, then back up to the wolf. Finally he looked up to Joey, who had yet to move and was observing the altercation silently.

“Joey, are you telling me you brought me here to teach this, uh, this cartoon how to play music?”

“That’s right.”

Drumming fingers lightly on the instrument case, Sammy considered the bizarre situation before him. And he came to a decision.

“Okay Joey, I’ll bite. Tell me what’s going on here, why there’s a living drawing, and what you need me for. I promise I won’t leave ‘til you’re done talking.”

His former employer beamed.

“Well for starters, I think a proper introduction is in order. Sammy, this is Boris the Wolf, dimwitted, clarinet-playing, best friend of the little devil darling. Boris, this is Sammy Lawrence, musical prodigy who wrote every song, tune and ditty for our studio.”

Boris slowly uncurled and blinked at Sammy, who grimaced but held out a shaking hand. The toon let out a tentative glove of his own, and they shook hands – although both parties flinched when they touched. Joey’s gleeful voice took Boris’ attention again.

“Boris, buddy, how about you go listen to the radio a minute. Sammy and I have a lot to talk about.”

Ears bouncing along with the nod, the wolf stood up and walked towards the nearest doorway. He looked back once before jerking forward again and running off. Sammy let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“We all knew you were crazy Joey, but…damn. How’d you do it? The ink machine?” He stood back up and stretched – that fall had taken a toll on his back. Joey gave a half-shrug.

“For the most part, yeah. Got some, some outside help too.”

“Yeah? What idiot let you drag them into this? Henry? Mel?” Sammy found himself disbelieving anyone had actually stayed with the man.

“Oh no, no, they all left years ago. No, my help was more…unconventional.”

“Unconventional.”

“Yeah.”

Joey was avoiding his eyes and Sammy felt the slightest tinge of unease. As someone whose office and expertise was below the ground floor, he hadn’t worked directly with Joey often, but he had heard stories from those that did. Animators who were asked to ‘contribute’ something personal to ‘appease the gods’. He had thought they were exaggerating back then, hadn’t believed such stupid rumors.

He was starting to believe them now.

Swallowing the sudden irrational thoughts down, Sammy crossed his arms and looked down at the nervous animator. He’d always been grateful for his natural height.

“Okay, so it was unconventional. That still doesn’t explain why it’s here. Why’d you do it? Was this why you went psycho?”

Joey squinted his eyes and gave Sammy a look that said he was contemplating something. He stayed like that for a moment before tilting his head.

“Think about it, Sammy. This could revolutionize the entertainment industry. Instead of slaving away drawing frames upon frames, worrying about keeping characters on model and in sync and as themselves, relying on the schedules and recordings of voice actors before production can even start, we have the real deal! Living, breathing, functional cartoons that can sing and dance and act and tell jokes! It’s unheard of!”

“That’s fine and dandy, pal, but I’m not a doodler. How exactly does this apply to me?”

“Okay, okay, then think of the musical aspect. No more stress about getting a clear recording with a balanced band. No more fuzzy, corrupted records that bastardize the beautiful original. And, working with the cartoons personally instead of going through every department for changes and errors. Just you, a band if need be, a production director, and the toon. No one else.”

This was tempting. Oh how tempting it was. Joey was getting more and more animated with every pitch and Sammy was finding himself drawn into it again the same way he had back at the beginning. And the animator wasn’t done yet.

“And just think of the revenue, Sammy! Fewer employees, fewer production costs, a star with no concept or use for money; Think of what a hit it would be with the public – why it could put Walt himself out on the streets in no time! And if it’s your music being played, your music shared live, it’s bound to be noticed more than in a silly animated show for children! Your talent would be recognized, and loved, and desired!”

At this point Joey was reaching for Sammy’s shoulders as if to shake them, and the man drew back in irritation.

“Alright, I get it, I get it! Just keep your hands off me,” Sammy grumbled as he shifted his weight. Joey dropped his arms but was undeterred, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. The musician chewed on his upper lip.

“I’m not going to lie, that sounds like the real American dream right there.” He lifted a finger to stop the other man from speaking again. “But, I still have my reservations. And some concerns. Have you told anyone else about this?”

Joey shook his head, “no, just you Sammy. You’re the only one I need right now.”

“Okay,” Sammy sighed, “we’ll have to work out a contract or something eventually, figure out how we’re going to do this. I’m not getting screwed over again. Fool me once, Joey Drew, got that?”

“Absolutely. Whatever you want.”

“Good. Now that that’s settled, why am I here? Why contact me first?”

“Because, dear friend,” Joey smiled, “you’re going to teach our cartoons.”

...

Boris sat in the desk chair, twiddling his thumbs and listening to the radio play its pre-recorded song for the fifth time now. He was really worried. This new person – Mr. Lawrence, was it? – was rather scary. He had come in, staring and screaming and swinging, and seemed to be just a not very nice person. Of course, he only had Mr. Drew to compare as far as humans went, and Mr. Drew tended to stare and scream and swing too, just not at Boris.

When he was told to leave the room, the cartoon had considered eavesdropping for exactly one moment. But angering Mr. Drew was never fun, and he didn’t know if Mr. Lawrence would get even scarier if he was mad too. So he hung back here, trying to stop the butterflies in his belly with a song he had already memorized long ago. For good measure the wolf had closed the office door after him, to show that he was loyal and could be trusted. 

But those cases…

It had seemed like they had music in them. Boris didn’t know if that meant another radio or the stuff that made the music or even just the paper with music on it, but he wanted so badly to know. Seeing those cases had made something move inside, like when he heated bacon soup and gulped it down all at once. It was a warm, joyful feeling, and he wanted to know what it was and why it was there.

He wanted to feel it again. 

“Boris! You can come back out now!” 

Mr. Drew’s voice sounded over the radio and the cartoon wasted no time. He jumped up, ran to the door, ran back to the desk and turned off the radio, then pushed in the chair like Mr. Drew always said to, and ran back to open the door and run into the hallway. When he arrived in the main room, he stopped short at the sight of Mr. Lawrence holding a small, strangely-shaped wooden device in his hands. Mr. Drew was nowhere to be found. The wolf watched in awe as the musician placed the thing under his chin and started plucking the strings that went all the way up the device.

Music echoed through the room and Boris just about melted onto the floor, he was so amazed by that sound. Mr. Lawrence saw his reaction and snorted in amusement. 

“Thing’s not even tuned, idiot. You haven’t heard anything yet.”

Boris didn’t know what he meant by that, but he nodded his agreement anyway and watched the man press a long stick against the strings. He brought the stick down and a sound warbled out. It was beautiful.

Mr. Lawrence didn’t seem to think so however, because he made a face and started turning the knobs at the top of the device. He noticed Boris watching him and began to talk. “If you’re wondering where your master is, he went out to my car to grab the rest of my instruments. I figured it would be the beginning of his apology to me, you know? Besides, he called me so the least he could do is move his sorry ass and do the heavy lifting for once.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Lawrence.” Boris didn’t quite understand all of that either, but he wanted to hear that beautiful sound again.

“Heh, ‘Mr. Lawrence’, huh? Alright, sure, that works. Of course you’d have more respect for me than anyone else ever has.” He moved the stick again and started to smile when the wolf closed his goofy eyes with a contented sigh.

“You like that, do you? Of course you do, anyone with sense likes a violin. Not the easiest instrument to start with, but my guitar broke two strings last week and Joey’s getting the rest, so this’ll have to do.”

“Violin?”

“Yeah, that’s what this is called.” Mr. Lawrence held up the stick and Boris noticed there was string attached to that too. “This is the bow, which is used to play the violin. What I was just doing was tuning it – making sure it’s ready to play and doesn’t hit a sour note anywhere. You understand?”

Boris did understand. In fact he recognized it. Maybe not the violin part so much, but the tuning and the playing right? He knew he had heard this before, had learned it. It was like how he knew what different words meant and how to sleep. And yet this was still different.

This felt like something he had been made to do.

Mr. Lawrence seemed to realize this too, because his eyes got all narrow and he studied Boris very closely. He was chewing on his lip too.

“Would you like to hold it?”

“Yes! I – I mean yes please, Mr. Lawrence. That would be nice.”

“Then get your ugly hide over here before I change my mind.”

The wolf wasted no time and scrambled to his feet and across the room. He slowed and stopped when Mr. Lawrence flinched back a little. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“No, no, I just,” the man eyed Boris up and down, “this is just something I have to get used to, I suppose. Just don’t move that fast and we won’t have a problem.”

“Alright Mr. Lawrence, I can do that.”

“Good. Now here’s how you hold it – be careful now! Those giant hands better not break something. Left hand here on the neck, right here. Keep a loose hold or you could really mess up the strings. Chinrest goes under your chin, right at the crook of your neck and shoulder – like that, yes. No, you can’t have the bow yet, I want to make sure you’re not going to drop the violin first.”

Boris held the instrument exactly as told, and as Mr. Lawrence slowly let go, the cartoon felt that warm feeling bubble back up. He wasn’t playing music, but this instrument, this violin, it could make music! It could make beautiful, _beautiful_ music, and he had the privilege of holding it!

Sammy Lawrence watched the utter joy in the toon’s face and couldn’t help his excitement at the sight along with the reminder of Joey’s words. _This is history in the making. You’re going down in history._

“Alright, Boris, that’s good. Now give it back to me, easy now, just like that. Nice. Always treat every instrument like a newborn baby, got that? Always.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Lawrence! I don’t know how else I could treat it.” Boris was one hundred percent sincere. Instruments were incredible.

“Damn right pal! Now,” Sammy’s eyes gleamed and a corner of his mouth turned up, “how would you like to hear _real_ music?”

Boris practically jumped for joy. He dropped on the floor right there and leaned forward with his hands on the ground. Sammy’s mouth tilted into a full smirk. He checked a few more notes, made a few adjustments, paused, dropped his shoulders just a little, and _played._

...

For the next week, things started to fall into a routine.

Sammy visited for several hours at a time every day, teaching Boris everything he had at his disposal: violin, guitar, banjo, bass cello, clarinet, and even a big marching drum from the old days – found stuffed away in the farthest corner closet at the music store he had officially resigned from.

It didn’t matter if he was technically unemployed; Joey was paying him more now than he’d gotten in a long time. He had no idea where the guy was getting it from nor did he care – money was money and Sammy Lawrence had never been interested in the affairs of others, anyway.

Boris took to music like, well, a cartoon made for it. Notes were heard once, played once on an instrument, and were rarely missed again. Rhythm came naturally – both man and wolf were equally surprised and equally excited to learn that Boris’ ears often reacted as a metronome, and it was used to great teaching (and comedic) effect.

In fact, the only real issue presented itself with the written pieces. For all his instinctive talent, the poor toon struggled to understand sheet music. Sammy would explain keys and note placement and timing and clefs, and Boris would give rapt attention, but the moment he tried himself it was if the lines blurred together and the notes jumped from high to low. They tried to work through it as the week progressed, but it was time-consuming and both teacher and pupil were often left exhausted and frustrated with little to show for it.

Eventually Joey reasoned that the wolf might have a form of dyslexia – most likely due to the shape and size of his eyes – and so they decided to put sight reading on hold until the men could study the disability and find ways to compensate for it.

As for the creator himself, Joey went between periods of watching the learning sessions with quiet interest and disappearing to god knows where the rest of the time. He only greeted Sammy when he arrived and said goodbye when he left – the two were strictly business partners in this setup and interacted as little as possible. 

This was more Sammy’s rule, of course. Joey, despite being a more vocal character, was content with letting the musician have that at least, and was often a completely silent bystander until it was just him and Boris again. 

By day six, it was becoming apparent that Sammy was seeing the cartoon in a new light. He stopped flinching whenever Boris stood up or accidentally touched him. He stopped watching for instant signs of attack or aggression. He even tried to curtail his cursing a little, as the toon still winced every time something negative was uttered. Joey observed it all without comment. 

By day seven, even Boris was starting to notice the changes in behavior. So at the end of practice that day he decided to take a chance.

“Do you still hate me, Mr. Lawrence?”

“What?” Sammy stilled from putting his clarinet away and turned around. “What did you just say?”

With angry eyes on him, the wolf suddenly felt very nervous. “Oh, I, I didn’t say anything, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Yes you did, don’t you lie. What did you say?”

“Ah – well, I just asked if you still hated me is all…”

“The hell kind of question is that?”

“Oh I dunno, Mr. Lawrence, you’ve just been awfully kind for a while now and I was wonderin’ is all.”

Sammy straightened to look directly at the fidgeting toon. “You think I hated you?” He frowned as Boris shrugged.

“Well gee Mr. Lawrence, it sure seemed like it. You didn’t like ta be near me for a long while, and you weren’t too happy when you were, and sometimes I make you really mad. But now yer not as angry? And more happy, maybe?”

Boris,” the man stepped up to the wolf, pausing to collect his thoughts, “I never – you need to understand that it’s not so much that I hate you, it’s more that I’m not used to you.”  
“Not used to me?”

“Well yeah, I haven’t exactly met any live cartoons before now. It’d be unsettling for anyone.”

“Oh, that’s true I s’ppose.”

“And I’m not angry with you – alright, maybe I am when it comes to that fu- freaking sheet music – I’m angry at Joey.”

“Mr. Drew? How come?”

“He screwed me over is what he did, the son of a bitch. Left me in a bad place with nowhere to go. Did that for a lot of people, actually.”

“What?” Boris looked genuinely shocked and shook his head. “But Mr. Drew has always been so nice, he’d never –”

“Sorry to break it to you, wolfy, but I’ve known ‘Mr. Drew’ a lot longer than you have, and I’ve seen firsthand what he’s capable of. Guy would skin a puppy if it meant he could reach his goals,” Sammy paused again and looked disgusted. “Whatever those goals are.”

“But I…”

“Ah, ah, I wasn’t finished. I’m glad you’ve been doing well here and he hasn’t kicked you to the curb yet, but mark my words. Humans are selfish and cruel and not all they make themselves up to be. Case in point, me.” He pointed to himself, “I’ll admit even I have my flaws. I make mistakes, but people like Joey either don’t see them or don’t want to see them. They deceive themselves and everyone around them until it’s a big shitstorm of bad decisions and bruised egos and someone gets hurt. Someone always gets hurt.”

The cartoon stayed silent, so Sammy shrugged and went for his coat and hat. “Believe whatever you want; I know you’re stuck here with only two people and that’s not enough for some world experience. Who knows, maybe everything will turn out all right. I’ve been bracing myself all week and so far I haven’t lost my livelihood again yet.”

He contemplated taking an instrument back home before nixing the idea. They belonged to Boris just as much now, and he wanted him to practice anyway. As he headed for the exit, Sammy turned around one more time to look at the wolf, who was staring dejectedly at the floor with the most pitiful expression possible. The musician sighed.

“Boris.” The toon looked up. “For what it’s worth, I never hated you. You’ve got a lot more heart than most of the bastards that walk this earth. Including Joey,” he hesitated only a moment, “and me.”

Boris blinked that slow bewildered blink of his before bursting out with the biggest, goofiest grin Sammy had ever seen on him. He looked like he wanted to run over and hug the man, but managed to stop himself and instead rocked back and forth on his boots, waving happily.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Lawrence! I sure hope ya have a good night!”

Turning so the toon couldn’t see his expression, Sammy felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards just a bit. “You too, buddy. You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I based Sammy's character and kinda vaguely described design from the amazing asktheinkdemon on tumblr. Go check it out if you haven't already.


	4. Chipped Paint and Flawed Saints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey thinks it's time to make the next step, but the echoes of former decisions warn against it.

Sammy and Boris were really going at it today.

Joey knew this because he could hear the music all the way from his office on the second floor, and he found himself humming along as he worked. Blueprints to the ink machine were spread across the desk alongside the careful notes regarding Boris’ existence and care. The creator glanced up at his wall calendar.

Six months. Six months since the toon had become conscious. Nearly two months since Sammy had joined their little group. No signs of deterioration or disintegration. He – it was still functional, still productive, and was making excellent progress in learning. The dyslexia, although unexpected and frustrating, was something they could still work around and didn’t seem related to Boris’ overall health. 

Leaning back in his chair, Joey crossed his arms behind his head and considered his options. Things were going better than planned. At this rate, it might be only a few weeks more before – well. It wasn’t Boris who was the star of the show.

He hadn’t exactly been honest with Sammy about his plans, but there was no other way to convince the man to help him. He wasn’t interested in fortune or fame. No, this went beyond all that. He was going to start an entertainment revolution. Creativity would no longer suffer under budget restraints and big businesses and ‘popular public opinion’. The world would literally become his canvas, and if everything continued to stay in place, all his hard work, his sacrifices, would not be in vain. 

No longer would the world see Joey Drew as an eccentric, unemployed former animator and business owner. Soon he’d be at the top, his creations at his sides. Nothing would stop them, not even – 

_Thnp!_

Joey whirled around at the thump sound but saw nothing. There was no movement. No other noises. He waited in stiff silence, not daring to breathe.

One minute passed, two minutes. Light flitted through boarded windows and created a dust dance; the particles swirled in agitated disruption from the opposite side of the room. Joey’s toes curled in their shoes.

He waited longer. Nothing.

With a quiet, shaky sigh, the creator turned back to his desk and collected the papers together. Perhaps he was being paranoid. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about, no more hints of those wasted years and failed experiments. Perhaps he was just becoming senile.

But still.

Joey did a single once-over of his office for anything he might have missed before carefully working his way into the hallway and towards the staircase, wary of his surroundings. Ink stains were not nearly as common up here as in the basement floors, but he still eyed the occasional splatter with trepidation. There was no reason to be concerned – nothing in this building would hurt him – but Joey was not taking any chances today. 

He reached the stairs without incident and took one last glance back before trudging down to the first floor to join the other two. The room remained quiet.

The ink gurgled.

...

“Mr. Drew! You came back just in time, me an’ Mr. Lawrence finally finished that song we were learnin’ and it’s my whole favorite!” Boris bounced in his seat, holding his clarinet and grinning in full-blown happiness.

Joey paused, papers in hand. He had planned to bypass the musicians and leave them be, but the toon was remarkably excited and even Sammy looked in a good enough mood to tolerate his presence – he was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and eyeing the exchange with a smirk. 

“He’s right, ‘Mr. Drew’. You want to hear his progress? Guy’s best at that instrument than any other.”

“I suppose I can spare a few minutes,” Joey found the closest chair and sat down, holding the notes to his chest. He crossed his legs and gestured that he was ready.

Boris nodded, licked his lips, and played the first four notes, and the creator just about fell out of his chair. He’d recognize that tune anywhere.

“Isn’t that –?”

“The Lighter Side of Hell? Sure is, pal,” Sammy chuckled through his smoke. “I figured a little nostalgia might be nice, and he really seemed eager to learn it. Funny, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

The wolf continued to play, oblivious to the reminiscence between men. As the song went on, so did the minds of the artists. They traveled back to older days where animators hunched over pages and pages of repeated frames and faces and flows, where you could feel music vibrate through the floorboards when the band really got going, where singers and voice actors offered their talents in a little booth of characters, where the real magic happened and imagination personified. 

When the last note warbled out, everything stayed silent for just a moment. But the memories were fading fast with the reminder of betrayal and bitterness, and the silence turned somber. Finally, Boris cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“So, uh, do ya like it Mr. Drew?”

Opening his eyes – when had he closed them? – Joey couldn’t stop the melancholy in his expression.

“It was lovely, Boris. You’ve been making great progress. I’m proud of you.”

If it was possible for stars to appear in someone’s eyes, it was happening for the toon. Sammy made an amused ‘heh’ and rotated the cigarette in his mouth.

 _This is as good as it’s going to get,_ Joey realized. _We’ll never be anything more than guarded business partners with a connection bigger than both of us._ The thought was not a pleasant one, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Or perhaps there was.

“I’ve actually been thinking about how much progress you’ve made, Boris, and how you haven’t fallen apart.”

“It sure is swell, Mr. Drew! Thanks for making me.” 

“You’re welcome, but I wasn’t finished. Now as I said, I’ve been thinking, and although I was going to wait maybe another week or two before bringing this up –”

“Oh would you stop beating around the bush and tell us? Jesus,” Sammy mumbled in irritation.

“Alright, alright, I’m just trying to figure out how to say it. I’d like, well. I believe we can move to the next level.”

“Next level? The hell does that mean?”

“Well, I told you about how we’d be famous for having a living cartoon, yes?”

“Yeah…?” The musician stood up from his spot and glanced at Boris, who looked just as confused.

Joey felt the devil’s grin snaking across his face.

“How famous do you think we’d be with having two?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, sorry for the delay, I've been really busy the last few days. I should have the rest of the finished chapters up tonight, and maybe a new one if I finish in time. Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think!


	5. Cartoon Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opinions are offered, promises are made, and everyone holds their breathe as the wait for Bendy begins.

“You’re making another cartoon?”

“I’m getting a new friend?”

Both phrases were blurted out at the same time in equal volume. One came from a man who looked like he didn’t know whether to be enthusiastic or disturbed. The other came from a wolf who looked like a child meeting Santa Claus. Joey’s grin grew wider.

“Yes. Yes to both.”

Boris made a sound not unlike a howl and clasped his hands together, bobbing his head every which way. He was positively ecstatic. Sammy, on the other hand, was not.

“When did you decide this, Joey?”

“Spur of the moment,” the creator shrugged, paused, and shrugged again. “Actually I’ve been thinking of it for a while. Was going to wait a few more weeks maybe, decided against it.”

“Uh huh.” Sammy pointed his cigarette at the happy bouncing cartoon. “We already have one hyperactive giant child here. Don’t you think he’s enough for now?”

“Ah, but you’re not looking at the big picture here, my dear partner –”

"Don’t call me that. And I _am_ looking, and the only thing I’m seeing is you getting us all in over our heads, again.”

“Sammy, it’s been two months of work. Boris has been doing splendidly, but we can only go so far before we have to take the next step.”

“I know that, but I don’t think…”

“And you know Boris has never been, err, exceptional at dancing. That’s why we need to move on. I’m ready, the machine is ready, Boris is ready; you can’t deny you want to see another one alive and kicking!”

Sammy hesitated, and the excited cartoon took that as a sign to jump in.

“Please, Mr. Lawrence? It’ll be so much fun ta have three of us makin’ music, and it gets awfully lonely here when ya’ll aren’t here and I –”

“Alright, alright I get it!” The musician rubbed his eyes and blew a large puff of smoke. “Fine. Go ahead and make another one, Joey, we’ll see what happens. But if anything goes wrong, you can bet your shoddy studio I’ll be saying I told you so. And don’t expect me to clean it up, either.”

“Absolutely. Don’t you worry.” 

“I’m holding you to that, I hope you realize.” Sammy snuffed the cigarette against the wall. “Now that it’s decided, how does this work? What are you going to do?”

Joey tilted his head and looked at the two before him. “For now, I’m going to wait. And so are you.”

...

“We’re back with Richard for the weather –”

 _Bzzt!_  
“– in related news, scientists say it’s only a matter of time before space travel –”

_Bzzt!_

“– funeral this Sunday at 3 for Jacob Bailey, 11, who was killed in a car accident on highway –”

_Bzzt!_

Sammy flicked the channel once more in boredom, taking a swig from a cold beer every now and then. With nothing to occupy the last few days, he was starting to remember how mundane midlife was. And it hadn’t even been a week since Joey ‘kicked him out’, so to speak.

Not that he really had much to complain about – he was still getting weekly checks, delivered by mail now instead of in person, and there was even less interaction with his own employer – but he couldn’t help the mild resentment from setting in. Here he was, tossed away like yesterday’s garbage again while Joey was off doing…whatever it was he did. Sure, this wasn’t the same situation, but Sammy would be damned before he let that happen again anyway.

Joey had asked for two weeks at most. Two weeks of seclusion and then Sammy could come back and meet the newest addition to their business. It was incredibly shady and it made the musician uneasy, but there was no way he was going to ask questions or actually get involved. If Joey finished early, he’d get a call, and then he’d be back to teaching cartoons how to play music.

Sammy couldn’t help the self-deprecating snort at that thought. He sounded like a nutcase. Maybe he was one. This whole situation was crazy. Talk about a life getting out of control.

Unconsciously, his thoughts strayed to Boris. Joey hadn’t specified what he needed the toon for; all he’d said was “he's going to help me with preparations”. Okay then. _Keep your secrets, Joey Drew. See if I care._

Still, there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind. Boris was far too naïve and trusting. Not something that could be helped given the circumstances, but it reminded Sammy of a few old coworkers – band members, ironically. Young men fresh out of school eager to get in on the new and popular entertainment medium. Young men who were kicked to the curb a good three months before the senior staff, like Sammy. Young men who had gambled their future with a madman and lost a lot more than he did.

Sammy shook his head, irritated at himself for going down that road. Boris was not them. He wasn’t even human. Joey cared about the toon a lot more than any employee, except maybe Henry once upon a time. And besides, Sammy had already warned the wolf about what could happen, what might happen. 

It was fine. It would be fine.

...

Boris quietly hummed a little ditty as he strummed the cello, standing outside of the ink machine room. Mr. Drew had told the toon to stay out of the way but remain close by, so here he was working on his fingering and glancing inside whenever he could get away with it. Mr. Drew was crouched behind the giant thing with a tool box and a big piece of paper called ‘blueprints’. He went between muttering numbers and calculations to working in total silence, accompanied by the occasional clang of metal on metal. There was a stiff feeling around him – not so much tenseness but restrained excitement. 

After Mr. Lawrence had left, a very confused but hopeful Boris had been led back to the power room and given an explanation. He was to help Mr. Drew with whatever he needed, no questions asked. He was to stay out of the way when he wasn’t needed, and not be distracting. And he was absolutely, positively not allowed near the ink machine at all unless explicitly instructed by his creator. 

It honestly wasn’t too much more than what he’d always done, but the wolf was not going to point that out while Mr. Drew was in this strange mood. 

Footsteps jolted Boris out of his music as Mr. Drew passed him, wiping his hands on an inky rag. The human paused and turned to look at his creation.

“I’m going back home for a few hours, but I will be back today, I promise. Remember what I told you. No going –”

“No going near tha ink machine, or tha power station, or tha pressure switch in tha film room.” Boris recited it word for word at the same time as his creator spoke it. Mr. Drew nodded in satisfaction.

“Good, good. Just don’t forget those things, and everything will be fine. I’ll be back by six tonight at the latest, and I should have a good idea of when I can start up the process, alright?”

“Yessir, Mr. Drew!”

The man chuckled as Boris did a very incorrect salute and went for the front room with the wolf trailing behind him. As he grabbed his hat and coat, he gave Boris one last nod.  
“I know you’re excited, and all this waiting is frustrating, but these things take time. We will do this, and I will get Bendy to the world of the living.”

With that he was gone, and Boris was left to wait.

...

When Joey came back to the studio, he was delighted and called out for the toon immediately. Boris came running out and skidded to a stop inches from his face. “Didja find out when he’s comin’ Mr. Drew?”

“Three days.” Joey held up three fingers and waved them back and forth. “Only three days and then we’ll be introducing a new partner, Boris old pal!”

He was swept up in a tight hug and spun around the room. “Oh that’s so wonderful, Mr. Drew! I can’t wait to meet him! We’re gonna play music together and I’ll show him the radio and the film room and we’ll laugh and play like the old cartoons and –”

“Alright, alright, please put me down!” The toon complied and Joey brushed at his ruffled clothes. “It’s not going to be immediate. When he arrives, he’ll need to learn how to live just like you did, and that might take a while. I mean, you were so disoriented it took you almost a month to really get the hang of things. But that’s okay. I think it’ll go even faster now since you’ll be here to help, and so will Sammy. Just don’t expect him to come out singing and dancing.”

“Oh no Mr. Drew, I know that. I’ll help him too, I’ll be like his teacher!”

“Yes, I suppose you will.”

Boris smiled at the compliment, but it disappeared as he held out three gloved fingers. “So, uh, three days is a… a Monday! Why are we waiting ‘til Monday, Mr. Drew?”

The man hesitated. “Well, it’s because, because… it’s better to start at the beginning of the week! And Mondays are usually awful, so we’re going to make this Monday a great one, yeah?”

“Oh yes! I understand now.” 

“Good. No more questions for now,” Joey headed for the staircase. “I need to check something on the second floor, so be good.”

“Okay Mr. Drew.”

Joey passed Henry’s old work desk into the stairwell and stopped at the first step. He bit his lip, thinking about the other day and the noise he had heard. If there was something – no. He wasn’t going to worry about it right now. And he wasn’t going to be afraid of something so trivial either. 

He climbed the stairs with a newfound determination and paused when he reached the top, listening for anything unusual. There was nothing. Joey breathed a sigh of relief and shook off his paranoia. He worked his way through the second floor until he reached a closed door stained with ink.

Taking a key from his pocket, Joey unlocked the door and opened it quietly. The room was large and bare except for a giant chute that was as pitch black as the ink blotches surrounding it. The creator moved towards it and carefully opened its hatch to peer inside. Ink sloshed inside like a cauldron. He glanced at the sides of the chute to look for leaks and saw nothing but pipe twisting into the building like arteries in a body.

Everything was running smoothly. Everything was in order. The preparations were complete. Now he just had to wait until Monday, and then he could do the hardest part.

Everything would be fine.


	6. How to Reanimate: For Crazy Creators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boris learns how his creator plans on introducing Bendy to the world, Joey learns that some things still haunt the studio, and a new cartoon is brought into print.

When Monday came so did Joey, in the wee hours of the morning before the sun had come.

Boris was actually asleep along with most of the block when his creator parked next to the studio, pulled a large, wrapped something from the trunk and carried it as quietly as he could through the door and into the building. He placed the heavy thing on the floor with gentle care and went to find the wolf, who was slumbering on a pile of Bendy cutouts in the film room.

Joey crouched and shook the toon’s shoulder, making a shushing noise when Boris groaned and blinked confusedly up at him.

“Mm…Mr. Drew?”

“Shh, yes Boris it’s me, I need you to be quiet. It’s very early in the morning.”

The wolf sat up, clutching a little Bendy plushy to his chest as he rubbed his eyes with a yawn. “But you said nobody outside can hear us, Mr. Drew.”

“I did, I did, but we need to be extra careful today. We’re bringing Bendy into the world, remember?”

Boris woke up very quickly and had to hold in a squeal. Joey put his finger to his lips and looked around in near-paranoia. “Shh-shh-shh, I need your help, but only if you can promise me you’ll be very quiet and do everything I tell you to, alright?”

“Yessir Mr. Drew,” the toon held his hands to his face, the plushy pressed hard against his mouth. He was trembling with excitement but didn’t make another noise.

Joey nodded and stood up, beckoning to follow him. When they reached the front room, he moved over to the new thing he had brought and sat down next to it, pulling one end up into his lap. Intrigued, Boris sat crisscrossed at his side.

“What’s that?”

With a little smile, the creator pulled the wrapping from the end he held and the wolf gasped to see a human face. Its eyes were closed under straight dark hair, and its blue lips stuck out on its pale skin. It was smaller than any human Boris had ever seen before – a little bigger than their cello maybe but not by much. 

“What…who’s this?”

Joey moved the human’s hair out of its face and caressed its cheek. “This was a young man named Jacob Bailey. He died recently.”

“Oh…” Boris fidgeted nervously with his hands. He knew what death was, had learned about it from his creator. This was not what he had expected. “Why is he here?”

“My dear friend,” Joey’s smile started showing teeth, and the toon couldn’t help the shiver up his back. “He will soon be joining us, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Joining us, Mr. Drew? How?”

“This boy – this beautiful, beautiful boy,” the man ran his hand over the child’s face again, “is going to be our Bendy.”

Boris watched silently as his creator unwrapped Jacob Bailey’s body. Under the cloth was a tuxedo, with a little white bowtie just like the little devil had. He was wearing fancy looking shoes as well – black and polished and clean. His dark hair, which Mr. Drew kept running fingers through, was combed very nice and neat, except for the bangs which fell over his closed eyes. 

The toon didn’t understand what all of this meant – why the human was so well dressed and why he had been wrapped up and what exactly Mr. Drew was talking about when he said it was Bendy. A cold feeling burbled into his stomach and he felt a lot more nervous than excited now, but he couldn’t figure out why.

Joey finally removed the last of the sheets and stood up with the stiff body in his arms. He looked down at Boris, who was still trying to process what was happening.

“All the items are still on the pedestals in the power room, right? Except the doll?”

The wolf nodded. He belatedly realized the plushy was tucked in the front pocket of his overalls.

“Good, good. I need you to go put that back, and then go get the ink pressure flowing. We practiced this, remember?”

Another nod. Joey was unfazed by the unusual silence.

“Okay. After you turn on the ink pressure, knock on one of the pipes three times so I know you’ve done it. I need to take the boy upstairs, then I’ll meet you down in front of the main power switch, okay?”

“I – okay.”

“Excellent.” Joey started off towards the staircase, and Boris was left in the dark with the sheets and the plushy and that cold, cold feeling.

...

Joey sat next to the ink machine chute on the second floor, catching his breath. Carrying the child’s body up the stairs had been more of a workout than he had expected, but it was worth it. He had his prize. Now he just needed to wait.

With Boris here to help, it was so much easier this time. He didn’t have to rush back and forth to make sure everything went well. It would be perfect. _No,_ he thought as he looked at the head in his lap, _you’ll be perfect._

A quiet, churning gurgle made Joey’s head snap up faster than a bullet. There across the room was one of many ink stains, but it was moving. Melting in and around itself like black magma, it pooled into a shape that made Joey’s heart stutter.

“No. Stay away from me!”

The thing paused in its formation, and made a whispery noise. Joey clutched the young body close to his chest.

“You can’t have him! I know I messed up, I know you’re jealous, but it’s too late! You can’t take this away from me!”

The ink gurgled and started inching forward; it was reaching, reaching for – 

_Clang! Clang! Clang!_

The signal from Boris rang through the pipes, rattling the chute and thoroughly startling the ink creature. It let out another murmured hiss and sank back to where it came, leaving a shaking man holding a dead body like a lifeline. It did not return, and he sighed in utter relief.

“It’s fine, it can’t hurt us, it can’t hurt you,” he mumbled to the stiff face pressed against his chest. With another long breath, Joey stood up warily with the body. When nothing appeared, he carefully, carefully placed the child into the chute and watched it slide down into the inky depths. 

...

Boris was surprised to see his creator come into the power room mumbling to himself and rubbing his crossed arms. He looked very, very spooked.

“Uh, Mr. Drew…?”

The man twitched and shook his head. He glanced sideways at Boris with a tight smile.

“Sorry for the wait. I was distracted, but it’s fine now. Thank you for your help.”

“Of – of course. Now what do we do?”

“You’ll stay here for the moment, and I’m going to the ink machine. When I rap the pipes, you are going to turn on the power and then join me. If everything works out, which it will, then it’ll only be a few minutes before we welcome our new friend.”

So the toon waited. And when the signal came, he pulled the switch down and ran with all his might straight to the room where he was made, where he had gained awareness, where someone else was going to do the same. 

He skidded to a halt right at the door, staring at a gloved Mr. Drew who was carefully, carefully pulling a dark, messy lump out of the machine’s nozzle and onto the wooden floor. Ink was dripping all over, and it was hard to tell what exactly had come out of the machine. His creator touched the mass with the ink-stained gloves and grimaced.

“Boris, be a pal and grab those sheets from the front room, would you?”

The wolf did so in a flash, and soon Mr. Drew was wiping off excess ink from his newest addition amid mumbles of “so much ink” and “more than I expected”. As he removed more and more, Boris could see two familiar pointy horns, and a round, pudgy body, and a face that was rather sooty and stained from everything.

Finally both creator and creation could make out two closed eyes and a slightly parted mouth filled with teeth. The creature before them was breathing, quick and shallow but manageable, and its face was devoid of emotion. It was a blank canvas.

Joey beckoned Boris closer, and they admired this new live cartoon despite its unconscious state and the mess around them. One of them – did it matter who? – leaned forward in awe and whispered to it.

“Hello, Bendy.”


	7. Little Devil Darlin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey reveals a little more than he intended about the last 26 years. Boris gets a very rude awakening.

For a long time they stayed like that – a small, sleeping cartoon and the two watching over it. Bendy’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm and his fingers twitched, half-curled on his pudgy belly. Boris couldn’t stop marveling at it all.

“So, um, when is he gonna wake up?”

Joey hummed in thought where he sat crouched by his new creation. He kept stroking the pointed horns like a father would his child’s head.

“It will probably take a few days; his body needs to adjust to all the changes. You were asleep for a while as well.”

The wolf blinked down at the little devil and placed a gloved hand atop Bendy’s. He smiled when four little fingers unconsciously tightened around his own. Ink still stained much of the floor, sheets, and the new toon, but it was much more manageable now.

Boris’ smile disappeared when he thought of something rather disturbing. “So, Mr. Drew, that dead boy, this is him now?”

“No. That person doesn’t exist anymore. He was long gone before I brought him here, trust me.”

“Oh,” the toon swallowed, “does that mean, you did the same thing with me?”

“I did.”

“Was…was it a child too?”

“No. It was a grown man. You’re supposed to be tall.” His creator stopped moving and sighed. “You have to understand, Boris, that when it comes to things like this, I didn’t have a lot of options. This has never been achieved before. _You’ve_ never been achieved before. I –” he paused and tried to find the right words, “I spent many years figuring out how to do it. Learned what it would take, what needed to be added and…what needed to be sacrificed.”

Boris stayed quiet and Joey continued, desperation tinging his words.

“It took so, so long. This was my dream, you and Bendy and, and everything I had ever made, to make it all _real!_ It wasn’t just proving people wrong either – I did this for the world just as much as for me. There was…a lot of trial and error, and sometimes it was really touch and go. I came so close sometimes too, but,” he rubbed his arms and looked up at the wooden ceiling, “something went wrong, something _always_ went wrong. I was at my wits end, you understand. And then I did what you just saw. And it worked! I made something that stayed right. I made you, Boris.”

Joey fell silent and it remained that way for a while. Bendy’s quiet breathes and the rumbling echo of the ink machine kept them company. Finally Joey stood up, reluctantly, and turned towards the door.

“I need to turn the pressure off now, save energy. Just remember what I said, okay?” He took a few steps and stopped at the hall entrance. “And Boris?”

“Yes, Mr. Drew?”

“Under no circumstances are you to tell Sammy about this. Do you understand?”

“…yes, I understand. I won’t tell.”

“Good.” Joey disappeared and left his creations alone. One was unaware of what had transpired. The other was unaware of its consequences. 

...

_– rumbling, screeching ow please, it hurts it hurts help me someone, HELP –_

His body arched on its own and he cried out, feeling sensations that were no longer there and unable to process them. Something grabbed his head, made a shushing noise but it was too much, he was dying he was dying and it _hurt so much!_

His head was released and he was picked up instead, something wrapped around his thrashing arms and writhing body and pulled him close against them, and only now he realized through the haze that something thick and sticky was dripping off of him, like blood but cold and not quite wet and it was leaking over his face and into his eyes and he couldn’t see–!

Something was pressed against his face and he froze as it wiped the horrible stuff off of him. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, and as a blurry world appeared his mind latched onto it, focused on this sense, and the fog and the pain started going away. The shushing sounds were still going and he latched onto that too; it was soft and deep and rumbly and sounded so, so calm and nice. 

As he came back to himself, he noticed he was rocking back and forth. Or rather, he was being rocked back and forth by something. He blinked some more at the long black – arms? – wrapped around him and the white – hand? – petting his back. The murmuring was coming from behind him, and with his mind clearing he found he could understand it.

“It’s okay buddy, you don’t gotta be scared. I know it’s weird but it’s okay. You’re gonna be alright.”

He tilted his head back and looked up into the face of something he didn’t know but looked so familiar. Huge, kind eyes. Long nose. Whiskers. Big, big smile that got bigger when they locked gazes. He relaxed involuntarily and the creature holding him sighed happily.

“There you go, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you Bendy.”

Bendy? His head cocked, confused, and he tried to make sounds like the creature, but all that came out was a gurgled whine. The thing holding him seemed to understand.

“You don’t have ta speak yet, don’t worry. It took me a long while too. Do ya understand me? Can you nod yer head if you understand?”

He did understand and didn’t know why he did, but he nodded anyway. The creature looked very happy.

“That’s good, buddy! It’s gonna be weird for a while but you’ll be okay. Nothing ta be scared of. I’m Boris. I won’t let nothing hurtcha, okay?”

He nodded again. Boris. Boris. The word went back and forth in his mind and he found that he rather liked it. He opened his mouth again to ask what _he_ was, what they were, but all that came out this time was a squeaky yawn. Now that everything had calmed down, he was quite tired.

“You can go back ta sleep if you want to, that’s okay. I’ll be right here. Don’t you worry.”

He heard it, understood it, and as his eyes closed and he drifted off, he felt his mouth spread across his face. _A smile. I’m smiling._ And he was down again.

Above the slumbering devil, Boris let out a giant sigh of relief. He had been looking at the differences between himself and this new cartoon when the poor thing had suddenly screamed and moved and scared the daylights out of the wolf. He had tried to hold Bendy’s head, tried to calm him down, but it didn’t work and so he just did what felt natural to do – scoop him up and hold him and whisper until something happened. Thank goodness it had worked; he didn’t know what he would do if it hadn’t.

Mr. Drew wasn’t back yet. It was Wednesday night and his creator had gone home to do some things and said that everything would be fine. _Well it sure ain’t fine,_ the thought crept up and Boris sent it away. Mr. Drew couldn’t have known this would happen. He had said Bendy would sleep for maybe three more days before waking up. And until he came back, Boris was just gonna have to take care of it.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to do that, but when he looked back down at the little toon, snuggled up and sleeping against his chest, he decided it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here, Bendy was here, and they were going to make it. 

...

When Bendy stirred again some two hours later, Boris braced himself for another struggle. But the little devil in his lap only yawned again, stretching and blinking before looking up drowsily at the wolf, who couldn’t help the grin from sneaking up again.

“Hey there little fella, how ya doing?”

Bendy made an ‘emph’ noise and shifted in his spot. Boris tentatively unwrapped his arms and the newer toon started to stretch his arms in the air, only to lose his balance and tumble backwards onto the floor with a startled cry. The wolf reached out in alarm, but Bendy just shook his head and rubbed his eyes, unharmed. He sat up and copied Boris’ cross-legged position. They watched each other. 

“I, uh…” the older toon twiddled his thumbs, “I don’t know what to do to help you. Mr. Drew said he’d be back soon and he can do a lot more than me.” Bendy’s brow furrowed, perplexed, and Boris fidgeted some more. “I think you can still, uh, understand me. Do you, hmm, do you want anything?”

As soon as the words left his mouth he practically face-palmed; how was the demon supposed to do that? But Bendy just looked at him, processing the words. That Boris could get; language was something he knew but had always struggled with. 

Then the newer toon did something unexpected. He pointed at Boris.

“Uh…”

Bendy scrunched up his face and made a noise. “Beh,” he looked frustrated and tried again, “buh…” His finger was still aimed at the wolf.

The older toon cocked his head to the side. “Boris?”

That was the right thing to say; the little devil lit up and his constant grin grew bigger. He pointed at himself. It took Boris a moment to figure it out.

“Oh! You’re Bendy. Ben-dy.” 

Bendy blinked a few times in acknowledgement before looking down at his hands. He turned them over, picking at the glove and feeling the texture of his arms. As Boris watched, the newer toon moved to his legs and feet, studying them very carefully. When he realized that his arms and legs felt the same, he held them up as best he could for the wolf to see, beaming the whole time. Then he started poking his stomach and made the cutest giggle sound Boris had ever heard. 

“Oh, you must be ticklish! I am too! Mr. Drew said it’s very common, but he isn’t ticklish. And Mr. Lawrence only grumbles when I ask him.”

The demon glanced up once and then resumed his exploration. He fiddled with the little white bowtie around his neck, ran his hands up and down his horns, and stuck his fingers in his mouth and tapped every tooth. With every discovery he made a happy little squeak, and Boris smiled at both the sound and his own memories. He had done this too, in the first few days he’d been awake.

He was startled when he felt a touch on his long arms, and looked down to see Bendy touching his fur in amazement. In a moment of mischief, the wolf swung his tail around and tapped the devil’s side, and the look of pure shock and the sound that came with it made Boris laugh harder than he had ever done. Bendy stared wide-eyed between the tail and the laughing toon, and then he started imitating the noise, bobbing his head back and forth. Soon they were laughing so hard tears were coming down both their faces.

The laughter stopped abruptly when Bendy pulled the bushy tail.

After that, Boris spent the next few hours helping the young toon learn about his new environment. He ended up having to carry the devil from place to place because he was so unsteady on his feet, but neither one minded. He showed Bendy the front room with the empty projector and how to turn it on and off. He showed him the room with the radio, and watched in amusement as the little toon tried and failed to move in rhythm to the song. He showed him all the instruments, safely tucked away in their cases in one of the closets.

The last stop was the film room, where he showed Bendy the old black and white cartoons. He pointed to the demon every time he came onscreen, and when the newer toon finally understood that was what he looked like, he practically bounced out of his chair with excitement. 

They stayed in there for a while, watching cartoons, until finally Bendy was practically passed out against Boris again, who cradled him gently and walked them both back to the front room. He sat down against a wall with the toon in his arms, and soon he was drifting off as well.

When Boris woke, it was to the sound of Joey unlocking the exit door. He smiled and gently petted the still-sleeping form in his lap.

“Mr. Drew is back,” he whispered, “let’s go meet your maker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, all caught up! Also I love writing from Bendy's point of view and I know he's a fan favorite so there's lots of interpretations out there. As the story grows he'll get more character, but for now he's just a little baby so be patient with him :)


	8. Inky Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey meets Bendy for the first time. It doesn't go as Boris planned.

“Mr. Drew is back. Let’s go meet your maker.”

Bendy shifted as someone petted his face, not wanting to come out of sleep just yet. Sounds drifted around him and ghosted through his mind.

“– Boris…tell you to keep him by…machine? …Still be unstable and…”

“But Mr. Drew…woke up and I…need to see him.”

“Woke up? What?”

Hands yanked the little devil away from Boris and abruptly woke him up. He flailed, distressed, and a bubbly whine came out of his mouth as he was held up by his armpits. In his panic, Bendy wasn’t even aware that he had begun dripping ink, or that it was bleeding into his eyes again.

Joey held his new creation with fading excitement and growing distress. Ink ran in rivulets down his arms, staining his shirt as he stared at the struggling, crying cartoon. Boris was on the ground at his feet, wide-eyed and startled by the fact that his creator had essentially ripped his new friend from his arms.

“This isn’t…this isn’t supposed to happen,” Joey mumbled, making no move to comfort the distraught demon. His words snapped Boris out of his shock, and the wolf stood up rather shakily.

“What, what wasn’t supposed to happen?” He reached out as if to pet Bendy, to calm him down, but stopped short and held his arm to his chest instead. His creator had a look on his face, one that had appeared right before he had broken a wall all those months ago, and nervousness coiled in Boris’ gut.

“Everything!” The artist pushed the smaller cartoon into the larger one’s chest, who quickly held him tight and started making soothing noises. His eyes, however, stayed on Joey. “He’s not, he’s not supposed to be awake for at least three more days, and he’s…look at him, Boris! He’s melting!”

The words were stressed at loud volume, and it made Bendy wail and thrash even harder. Boris struggled to hold him.

“It’s okay Mr. Drew! He’s not melting!” The wolf cried, worried at the near manic expression on the man’s face. “He had lots of ink when he was created too, he’s okay! And, and this is what happened when he woke up last night. He got real scared and I think, I think he’s crying? That’s what I think it is.”

He readjusted his arms and got one hand out to wipe the demon’s face, getting the worst of the mess away. Bendy sniffled up at him and burrowed himself against the wolf’s chest, who gave a tentative smile at his silent, staring creator.

“I think, you said he’s different than me, so I think that’s why. Ain’t nothing wrong, Mr. Drew. He’s just not used to stuff yet is all.”

“Mm,” Joey eyed the little shivering creature, who was no longer dripping ink, having calmed down just a bit. He sighed and looked at his ink-ruined shirt. “I’m… I’m sorry for reacting the way I did, Boris. I just had a rough night and I wasn’t expecting to come back to this. Forgive me for being so on edge.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Drew.” Boris sat back and began to rock back and forth, holding the little toon like a toddler. “It might be a good idea to try again though.”

“Oh, yes, yes of course.” Joey sat down as well and scooted closer to his creations. “Bendy? I’m sorry for frightening you in such a way,” he spoke softly, “my name is Joey Drew, and I am your creator.”

Bendy warily peeked from his hiding place in Boris’ fur and looked Joey up and down. Fistfuls of the wolf’s overalls were clenched in his gloved hands and his face was a liquid mess. Slowly he unfurled away from Boris and turned to sit directly across from his creator, keeping his grip on Boris’ clothes. Joey’s mouth quirked at the display.

“I won’t hurt you. I was simply surprised that you had awoken so soon.” The man held his hand palm up and offered it to the demon, who flinched at the approach but didn’t withdraw. After a moment of watching the outstretched hand, Bendy – out of curiosity he couldn’t control – shakily reached up to touch human skin.

When they made contact Joey curled his fingers around Bendy’s little gloved hand, and the devil squeaked in terror and tried to pull away. His creator’s grip remained firm however, and he began moving both their hands up and down in a greeting. Boris had a conflicted look on his face and just about asked Joey to stop, but Bendy stopped squeaking to stare at the way his arm was being moved.

“There, that’s it. This is called a handshake,” the animator continued the motion, “and it’s what two people do when they meet each other.”

The demon made a curious noise of understanding, and when Joey released his hand the toon turned and held it out to Boris. The wolf responded with his own handshake but kept his eyes on his creator. Bendy gripped the older toon’s arms and yawned, exhausted from the stress of the last five minutes, and curled back up against Boris’ overalls. 

Joey tapped a stained finger on the wood flooring in thought. “Perhaps…I was too quick to judge the situation.”

“How’s that, Mr. Drew?” the wolf’s voice was a whisper as he stroked the little head on his chest.

“I think you might be right Boris. He’s not wrong, he’s just different. Nothing a few little adjustments can’t fix.”

When Boris looked up, concerned, his creator clarified, “I mean adjustments on our part. Changes in how I – how we take care of him, teach him, that sort of thing. He’s a lot more childlike than you were at this stage, I must say.”

Joey stood up and stretched. “I wasn’t expecting Bendy to wake up so soon. I was planning on doing some paperwork today, in fact, so please don’t disturb me unless he wakes up again. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The elder toon watched his creator leave and couldn’t help the relieved breath when the man was gone. Still shaken from the whole encounter, he brought his legs up and leaned forward as if to create a wolfy shield around the smaller creature.

“Don’t you worry none,” Boris murmured to Bendy, slowly petting his horns, “we’ll take care of ya. Ain’t nothing gonna hurt you. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally found the time to write this out, even though it's so short. I miss the old days when summer meant having free time, am I right?! 
> 
> Also, I usually try to update once a week on this story (not including the unexpected hiatus) so we'll see if I can get back on that schedule. Let me know what you think!


	9. Of Words and Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bendy isn't afraid to pick favorites. Joey and Boris adjust to having a new member on the team, and both wrestle with some things.

It became very apparent that Bendy was not fond of Joey Drew.

Over the course of the next few days, the man had spent all his free time at the studio to keep tabs on the little toon’s health. He had even gone so far as to stay there at night, having packed nighttime essentials in a modest sleeping bag which he used in the ink machine room. Joey never left Bendy out of his sight when he was over, and was constantly examining him for signs of wear, tear, and disrepair.

The demon never got used to it, and would squirm and whine the moment his creator came within five feet of him. He much rather preferred the companionship of Boris and refused to leave his side when the human was around. Sometimes it took the wolf’s repeated reassurances and quiet stroking for the younger toon to cooperate during checkups, which left a bitter, sullen Joey and a nervous, fretting Boris afterwards.

Bendy was, of course, oblivious to these more subtle exchanges of emotion, spending most of his time figuring out himself and his surroundings. Boris had become full-time Bendysitter when their creator was out, both overjoyed with the little devil’s curiosity and energy and overwhelmed by his ability to get in so much more trouble.

One of the worse cases came when the wolf had left Bendy playing with his plushy likeness to grab some food, and returned 15 seconds later to the sight of the demon halfway up a bookcase, balancing precariously and trying to reach Mr. Drew’s copy of ‘The Illusion of Living’ sitting on the top.

Boris had just about had a real heart attack that day.

In all honesty though, the wolf couldn’t blame his little partner. He had fuzzy memories of being like this as well (okay, maybe not _quite_ like this, he had a good two feet on the devil after all) and doing his best to learn, to understand who and what everything was. But something about Bendy – perhaps his small stature or his inherent cuteness or his sleepy snuggling – had set off every protective instinct Boris never knew he had.

Maybe this was why he was so on edge around his creator now.

It wasn’t nearly as difficult as he was making it out to be, really. Bendy often napped throughout the day, easily tuckered out from a few hours of exploring, and was always clinging to the older toon in some way. Three days in and Boris had already forgotten what it was to be alone.

By that next Wednesday, a week after the demon had woken up, the wolf finally asked his creator what had been on his mind a while.

“Can you tell me more about who I am?”

Mr. Drew – holding a reflex hammer in one hand and trying to keep Bendy still with the other – looked up at Boris with amusement.

“You’re Boris the wolf, of course. Fantastic musician and loveable oaf.”

“No I mean, I mean who was me. Who was made to be me. The…the body.”

His creator straightened abruptly, an unhappy little devil in the crook of his arm. “What does that matter?” He looked irritated. “You’re here now, you’re Boris, and that’s it. No need to dig up old graves.”

“I just wanna know is all…”

“Well you don’t need to know. It was a fairly tall individual, and he was wearing those overalls when I put him through, alright?” When Bendy started wriggling in his grip, Mr. Drew sighed, patted his head affectionately, and put him gently down. The demon ran behind Boris and gripped his clothing. The wolf felt sick.

“He was...these were his clothes?” He resisted the urge to grab a shoulder strap, setting his hand on the toon hiding against him instead. Bendy hummed in happiness but stayed watching the two.

“Yes, Boris, and he was wearing those boots and a flannel shirt which I had to strip off of you because you don’t wear a shirt. Anything else?” There was clear agitation in his creator’s voice now, and Boris had that strange worry bubble up again.

“Well, I just –” he was stopped by a whine and a tug from beneath him. Bendy was trying to pull him away, away from Mr. Drew. He had picked up on the mood change and was getting nervous. The older toon let out a little breath.

“That’s…okay, Mr. Drew. I don’t need ta know more. I won’t bring it up anymore, neither.

“Good. Because I’m not going to talk about it.” The man tapped the reflex hammer against his palm a few times, then shook his head and left the room muttering. 

Bendy stopped pulling to watch him go, and Boris crouched to his level. “I’m real sorry, Bendy. I didn’t mean ta make ya worried like that.” He stretched a glove hand and rubbed the pointy horns, and the demon tilted his head and wrapped his arms around the wolf’s torso.

Boris smiled softly and hugged back. “Thank you.”

The little toon grinned up at him, tried to respond with ‘you’re welcome’, but all that came out was a rare vowel here and there. His grin faded into frustration and he started pulling on his lower jaw as if he could stretch it to form words. The wolf stopped his hands before he could get too self-destructive.

“It’s okay, ya don’t gotta talk yet. I know it’s hard fer communicating but I’m sure we can figure out…” he trailed off as he caught sight of the floor, where scattered blank paper laid untouched. A plan formed in his mind and Boris felt giddy.

“Ya know what? I have an idea. Help me get that paper.”

...

Joey sat at Henry’s old work desk, his head in his hands. This was hard. This was so much harder than taking care of just one cartoon. Before, he had a rather simple yet sweet character who was quick to learn most of what it was taught, and even with Sammy’s sour nature in the mix, it was turning out so well.

And now his newest creation didn’t like him at all, his older creation was asking things it didn’t need to be thinking about, and – 

He glanced up at the ceiling, thinking about what he had encountered the week before. He had refused to go up since, but he knew it was still there. Still lurking, waiting to remind him of his past failures and who it had cost. It wouldn’t come down here, it preferred the second floor, just like the music department was preferred by –

_Stop! Stop thinking about it!_

Joey shook his head angrily. He was safe here. His cartoons were safe. So what if those…rough drafts hadn’t fallen apart yet. As long as they stayed away, it was fine.

Speaking of, he decided he had stayed away from his creations long enough. With a scrape of his chair and a quick stretch of his back, Joey started back to where he had last seen them. 

They weren’t there.

Blinking, Joey turned this way and that, trying to figure out where they might have gone, until he heard Boris’ baritone voice drifting from another hallway. Curious, the man turned a few corners and found quite the sight.

Both toons were sitting in an open room – one with an inky leak dripping from above – with dozens of sheets of basic drawing paper spread out in a circle around them. Boris had taken off his gloves and was dabbing in the ink puddle from the corner as Bendy peered over his shoulder in rapt fascination. Neither one noticed Joey, who hung back to keep the scene undisturbed.

The wolf turned back to the paper and pointed at a page covered with the letters of the alphabet in fine handwriting. Their creator recognized it as his own, from all those months ago when his first toon was still learning. He watched as the two each grabbed a blank piece of paper and the wolf began to speak.

“Now, this is the way to go about it, see Bendy? The big letters are for names, like mine right here.” Boris slowly spelled out his name from the ink on his ungloved hand, making the letters large and easy to read. He took special care to show off the capital ‘B’, tapping it with a fingertip.

There was a _hmm_ beside him, and he turned to see his little friend attempting the same thing on his own paper, using one ink-dripping finger. Bendy’s handwriting was considerably blotchier but no less legible, and when he was done he pointed at his own capital “B” with a grin, waiting for the wolf’s approval.

Boris beamed back and the devil let out a satisfied squeal. “Good job, buddy!” The larger cartoon carefully picked both pages off the floor, trying not to let the ink run. He placed them both in a separate corner and looked very proud, hands on his hips.

“Now we just gotta let them dry, and then it’s there forever! Isn’t ink marvelous?”

Bendy bobbed his head up and down in gleeful agreement.

“You said it! Now let’s do your name.”

As they dipped their fingers in the ink again, Joey backed off and left them to their space. He was impressed. Not only did this solve Bendy’s temporary (because it was most _definitely_ temporary) muteness, it could also help Boris practice with his dyslexia. And it was his idea on top of that. It implied potential in problem solving and creative thinking.

Feeling considerably more chipper than he had in almost a week, Joey meandered back the way he had come, hands in his trousers and whistle on his lips. He had a call to make.

It was time to invite their musician back to the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, things are coming together again, yay! I'm so psyched for some of the stuff I have planned :)  
> Someone on ff.net mentioned the "Boris is actually Wally" theory, and while I love it, I'm afraid it doesn't work for this story. Hopefully that explanation comes in a near chapter, but honestly who knows with writing. These characters have minds of their owns.


	10. And So It was Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy meets Bendy. It doesn't quite go as planned, but when do things ever?

When Sammy Lawrence’s phone rang, he was in his bedroom going over bills. He did NOT jump like a rabbit, he did NOT run to the living room, and he absolutely did NOT grapple with the phone like Boris fumbling with silverware. To insinuate such a thing was simply absurd.

“Ah, yeah uh, hello?” he just about kicked himself for stumbling like that.

“Sammy, it’s Joey!”

“Oh hey Joey, uh, so what’s the news?”

“How would you like to meet our newest addition?” 

What was also absurd to insinuate was that Sammy so readily agreed. He did NOT drop everything to get ready, he did NOT pull out pre-packed bags despite the short distance, and he did not, under any circumstances, run straight to his car like a moron.

Despite all these things not happening, Sammy made it to the studio in record time, and he entered with minimal fumbling and absolutely no bumbling. Didn’t stop him from making a few funny noises when he realized he had barged right in on the toons themselves.

“Mr. Lawrence!” Boris nearly dropped the banjo he had been playing and placed it very neatly and very quickly on the chair he’d been sitting on. Sammy had all of those 3 seconds to brace himself for a barreling mountain of inky, furry wolf hug. It wasn’t enough.

“It’s so great to see ya again, Mr. Lawrence! Mr. Drew said you’d be comin’ over today but I didn’t know it would be so soon!” The toon lifted his musician captive off the floor and squeezed.

“Alright, alright, let me down!” Sammy pushed at the lanky arms surrounding him and was promptly placed back on his feet. He straightened out his clothing, more than a little miffed. “So where’s this new pal of yours, huh?”

“Oh, he’s right over –” Boris turned around and stilled. The little devil, thoroughly startled by the appearance of another human and his elder toon’s reaction, had ran to the desk in the far end of the room and hid himself in the leg space, pulling the chair in with him as a barrier. 

Sammy raised a brow. Bendy was supposed to be mischievous and curious, not nervous and scared. Joey had said as much over the phone. Beside him, the giant wolf rubbed his arm and laughed awkwardly.

“Ah, sorry about that, Mr. Lawrence. Bendy ain’t used ta new stuff all that much yet. He’s still tryin’ ta figure things out.” 

Boris moved over to the desk and sat cross-legged in front of it. He looked back apologetically. “Ya mind sittin’ down over there? Ya don’t look so scary sittin’ down.”

With a grumble of ‘when have I ever been scary’, Sammy did as he was told. He watched as the wolf slowly but surely coaxed Bendy out of his hiding place and into his arms like a toddler. The ink demon gripped the elder toon’s overalls and watched Sammy suspiciously. 

With a few good scoots, Boris made his way closer to the musician and stopped about 3 feet away. He smiled down at his buddy. “He ain’t gonna hurt us, Bendy. This here is Mr. Lawrence, and he’s who taught me all about those instruments we like.”

Bendy seemed mightily surprised and skeptical of this, but he pushed himself out of Boris’ arms and stood nearly eye-level to Sammy’s position on the ground. They watched each other, quiet and motionless. Boris fidgeted. 

Finally the little devil tilted his head and reached a hand out to touch Sammy’s pant leg, who raised another eyebrow but didn’t comment. He let the tiny toon poke at his leg, his arm, even his hair and face, until Bendy was satisfied and crossed his arms with a contemplative squeak. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” the musician’s voice was quiet but firm. “I just wanted to meet you. Maybe teach you music too, if you’re interested.”

Boris took this chance and jumped in. “See buddy? Mr. Lawrence is a good teacher, he taught me all about music! Now we can plan together and sing and dance –” 

“I thought you two were supposed to be practicing.” Joey’s voice called out unexpectedly and startled all three occupants. As Sammy jerked backwards a little, he saw Bendy turn and ram himself straight into Boris’ chest, grabbing the overalls again and burrowing his head in black fur. The wolf in turn started petting his head and humming, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the voice.

“We were, Mr. Drew, but Mr. Lawrence is here now and I was introducin’ him and Bendy!” 

“Oh wait, he’s –” there was a crash and a thud and some muffled swearing. “Hang on a sec, Sammy, I’ll be right out!”

Sammy didn’t miss the way Bendy curled closer to the wolf at Joey’s voice. He also didn’t miss, when Joey came rushing into the room to greet him, how Boris kept his eyes on his creator the entire time. Something cold flipped in his gut.

“So sorry I couldn’t properly welcome you, Sammy. I was down the hall and didn’t hear you come in.” The artist wiped an ink-stained hand on his shirt and held it out to the musician, who took it and hoisted himself up.

“Eh, it’s fine. Met Bendy right here anyway, I’m glad it’s out of the way.” He couldn’t help the amused chuckle as he looked at the wolf. “We can’t keep startling each other like that.”

Boris opened his mouth to respond but Joey beat him to it. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You’ve met, you can see Bendy’s a success, and hopefully we can begin teaching him as soon as possible. He’s only been conscious about a week, but I figured an early head start would be beneficial.”

“Yeah, sure, sure.” Sammy watched as the toons remained attentive to Joey. He cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, I have some stuff in my car I’d like to try, for sight singing and so on, so if you could pull your weight, that’d be fantastic.”

Joey rolled his eyes but went out without complaint, and the musician watched the subtle relaxation in the toons when he went. Boris didn’t seem to realize he had done it, but Bendy hopped out of his lap and made no qualms about showing his unease, glaring hard at the exit door and turning back to the abandoned banjo.

The wolf got up like lightning and got a hold of the instrument before the devil. “Ah, sorry buddy, but I toldja you can’t play with it yet. Gotta be careful.” He gave a quick glance to Sammy, biting his lip. “Er, am I right Mr. Lawrence?”

The man looked back the way Joey had disappeared. “Yeah Boris,” he said quietly, “you’re absolutely right. Gotta be careful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had no time to write, I am so sorry.  
> Legit though, I scrambled like Sammy when I finally got time and inspiration. This chapter is a little short but hopefully I can start updating semi-frequently again!


	11. Two's Company, Four's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy's back, and he watches. He doesn't like what he sees.

Time passed very suddenly after the musician’s return, and everyone fell into habits that circled almost exclusively around their youngest member. Sammy started mentoring both toons at once, and it was decided by Joey’s executive order that Bendy would only learn dancing – and singing, if and when his voice appeared. The musician himself spent even more time at the studio, if that were possible, watching interactions between toons and creator with quiet, concerned reservation. 

Boris remained part-time writing teacher and full-time babysitter but didn’t mind either. With Sammy’s presence, he felt more relaxed as well; his creator was still moody and distant but let them be during lessons, sometimes disappearing for hours at a time, and the wolf was grateful for the change even if he wasn’t sure why. He also started learning two-part harmonies, playing a tune on one instrument while Sammy played another, which was incredibly fun and new.

Joey became more withdrawn and paranoid, staying out of sight and sound, observing lessons from a far distance or humming along with the echo from another room. He also began watching the stairwell periodically, looking for ink stains that weren’t there before or noises that might sound suspicious. Shadows made him jump more easily and he was losing sleep. Dark circles were becoming a staple of his everyday look, but no one made comment of it. He would deny it even if they did, anyway.

The youngest, smallest, and most rambunctious of the group was ecstatic. He was no longer being poked or prodded, the new strange man was slow and quiet with him even if he tended to mutter a lot, and he was learning to dance – a perfect outlet for a toon toddler with too much energy. He still couldn’t talk, but words were getting easier to understand and he was now able to communicate with his own ink and a notepad that Boris carried for him. But of course, Bendy’s nature prevented him from truly settling down, and it wasn’t long before there were some…incidents.

...

The first such episode was five days into Sammy’s daily visits, and came from good intentions. It was a late night after the musician had left, and Boris was sitting on the floor teaching his younger counterpart how to write, and they were practicing putting words together into sentences. The entire time – in between bouts of praise and encouragement for working so hard – the wolf kept gushing about how excited he was that his music lessons were finally continuing, and at one point he had stopped scribbling to look at the devil and say:

“Ya know, buddy, before you came, those instruments kept me company. It got real lonely here sometimes – please don’t tell Mr. Drew I said that, but it’s the truth. Before Mr. Lawrence came, I didn’t really know what ta do or what I wanted ta do. But then I started learnin’ music and I wasn’t so lost no more. It was kinda, kinda like I had a dream that came true, but I didn’t know it was my dream till it happened. And then you came along too, and I had an even bigger dream come true!”

Bendy pondered that, and when Boris wrote out ‘my dreams came true’ on his page, the smaller toon sat back and pondered that too. Then the wolf asked him if he had any dreams, and the demon wrote a question mark on his paper, asking for clarification. 

“Oh, gosh I’m sorry,” Boris smacked his head with his hand, “I never toldja what dreams are, huh? Well, Mr. Lawrence says that when we sleep, we make a little cartoon in our minds sometimes, and that’s a dream. I never have that though, I just go to sleep and then I wake up just quick, so I don’t know ‘bout that. But Mr. Drew says that dreams are also things that you want to come true, or things you want to do or see, and when that happens then it’s right wonderful. Do ya understand?”

Bendy understood. He understood because he had dreams every time he went to sleep. They were blurry and mostly just colors and muffled sounds, and he didn’t remember most of them, but they bothered him for reasons he couldn’t name. But the way Mr. Drew described dreams made them sound like good things, like things that he wanted. He wanted a good dream.

The little toon wrote down ‘I want a good dream’ and gave it to Boris, who blinked very slowly as he registered the words. 

“I, uh, I’m not sure if that’s how it works, little buddy.” The wolf scribbled underneath the words and gave it back. “I think a dream is supposed ta be like this.”

The page read ‘I want to be your friend’, and although it took Bendy a few long moments to understand, he beamed with all his teeth and reached out for Boris, who happily obliged and scooped him up in a hug. They sat like that for a minute or so.

“Now, see? This dream came true! We’re friends and I don’t want it no other way, Bendy buddy!”

The little devil wholeheartedly agreed.

The elder toon smiled and released his hold, reluctantly getting up from his spot on the floor. “I gotta clean up everything now, Mr. Drew said we can’t stay up too late now that we got lessons again. Wanna help?”

He did want to, and after the pages were gathered together Boris went around the corner to put them away, leaving Bendy to think about dreams and how he could have good ones. He came to the quick conclusion that maybe if he wrote it down, like Boris had, then he would get one. In a spur-of-the-moment decision due to lack of paper, the demon grabbed a chair, dragged it over to the wall, and painstakingly wrote out ‘DREAMS COME TRUE’ across the wallpaper. He finished the last letter right as Boris came back.

“Well, buddy, I think it’s time we get ready for – what are you doing?!” 

Bendy whirled around with a squeak, black ink splattering out from his still-dripping glove. He grinned and pointed at his handiwork with a proud foot stamp, but the grin faded fast when he saw the wolf’s startled expression.

“Oh, Bendy, no we don’t write on the walls…!” Boris rushed over and hovered over the new décor, trembling hands hesitating inches from the wet ink. He mumbled, more to himself, “What will Mr. Drew think?” 

His smaller counterpart heard him anyway, and stuck his tongue out to show exactly how much he cared about that. The older toon shook his head.

“Okay, okay, it’s only ink. There’s lots of ink all around, Mr. Drew won’t get mad.” He nervously glanced Bendy’s way. “Right?”

Oh, Bendy hadn’t thought about that. That didn’t sound good at all. A shudder went up his little frame and the space under and over his eyes started dripping. The wolf reached out and wiped his forehead in alarm.

“No buddy, don’t cry! It’s okay! I’m sure Mr. Drew won’t mind, he might not even see it tonight anyway. He’s on the other side of the studio, remember?” He pulled the shaking toon close and picked him up, cradling him against his chest. “You’re not – _we’re_ not gonna get in trouble, alright?” Bendy nodded into his fur, hiccupping silently now, and missed the way Boris’ eyes flickered fearfully up to the giant ink phrase.

His reassurances turned out mostly correct, to the surprise of both toons. Joey rushed out that night without much more than a goodbye, and didn’t actually see the new addition until Sammy was already with them the next day. In fact, he called for them to come in the middle of a dance lesson, and the musician was so sore at his associate for interrupting that he bothered to follow them to the scene of the crime.

And so the four of them stood, two grumpy and two guilty.

“What is this?” Joey had his arms crossed and stood right next to the sentence so they could all get a good look.

“It’s, uh well you see Mr. Drew,” Boris stumbled at the clouded look on his creator’s face. “I was teaching Bendy how to write some more last night, and uh…”

Bendy, not wanting to get in trouble but not wanting Boris to get in trouble even more, stepped in front of the stuttering older toon and pointed at the wall. Joey raised an eyebrow and the demon stuck a thumb against his own chest, trembling only faintly. Sammy watched from behind and Joey inhaled very carefully.

“Why would you do something like this, Bendy?”

The little devil moved a little closer and pointed at the word ‘DREAM’ and then to himself. He pointed at the word again and then to Boris. It took a moment for his meaning to click.

“Boris is your dream?” A nod yes. “Okay, that’s good, very wonderful, but why did you feel the need to deface the wall like that?”

Bendy didn’t know the word deface, but he figured it was another way to say ‘write’. He shrugged nonchalantly. His creator opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted, surprisingly, by Sammy.

“It looks like he just wanted to show how happy he is, Joey. You ever been around kids? Not uncommon for them to do stuff like that.” The musician paused a moment, taking in Joey’s murky expression and how Boris was tense as a bow pulled too tight. “At least now we won’t miss the writing on the wall.”

Both toons stared in confusion, but Joey couldn’t help the snort that escaped him as his visage subtly cleared. The animator left shortly after with a grumpy grumble about paperwork and stupid jokes, and as the remaining three returned to their instruments, Sammy didn’t miss the way Boris’ shoulders dropped nor how tightly Bendy held the older toon’s hand.

The two stayed quiet and grateful for the rest of the day.

...

The second incident came almost a month after the first, and was actually not entirely of Bendy’s own inspiration. The idea formed after Boris showed him the Bendy cardboard cutouts, all stuffed away in a back closet shortly before the real deal’s arrival. His elder had then relayed the one time he had accidently scared their creator with one, hidden around the corner by the film room. The little devil found the story hilarious, and Boris himself had chuckled in sheepish amusement as he described the exact look on Joey’s face.  
Bendy decided he wanted to see that face for himself.

He was found out while setting up his ambush by Sammy, who figured out the purpose of the prank real fast. Ironically, it couldn’t have been a better situation for the demon, because his musician friend took one look at the setup and dropped down to one knee, beckoning him closer.

The tiny toon was still wary around the human but obliged anyway, and to his eternal delight Sammy only whispered how he thought it was a wonderful idea, and told him he could better scare his creator if he moved the cutout like it was peeking out the corner. They figured out which room Joey was in, and the musician took position at one end of the hallway and Bendy at the other, each armed with their own cardboard and ready for any direction Joey might take.

Sammy even went out of his way to make sure Boris was stuck in the other end of the studio, making him listen to recordings and practice his fingering on the banjo so he wouldn’t tattle or get caught in the scare.

Bendy concluded that Sammy was trustworthy when he did that.

So they sat in ambush, undisturbed, for a good twenty minutes, and then Joey stepped out of the room. He paused, concerned that he couldn’t hear any music during lesson time, and turned down the corridor where the little ink demon sat, who struggled to contain his anticipation. When the creator’s footsteps rang very close, Bendy popped the cardboard out so it peered around the corner.

It turned out to be so close to Joey’s face that he flailed and fell backwards with a loud, sharp cry, landing hard on his butt not unlike when Sammy had met Boris all those months ago. Bendy had a perfect close up of his creator’s face and started laughing in squeaky, gurgled noises, dropping the cutout and joining it on the floor a moment later in spasmic delight. His eyes filled with so many mirth-made inky tears that he didn’t see Joey’s absolute fury. He didn’t see him get up.

He felt it, however, when hard hands grabbed him.

Sammy turned the corner at the other end of the hallway just in time to see Joey Drew pick Bendy up by his shoulders and shake him roughly, shouting angrily in the poor creature’s terrified face. He sprinted for them, panic-stricken and yelling for the man to stop.

Joey didn’t hear him.

“What the hell was that?! Do you think that’s funny? HUH?! Scaring me like that – oh don’t start crying or I’ll fucking _give_ you something to cry about –!”

“Joey STOP!” Sammy took ahold of Joey’s arm and spun him around, pulling the sobbing toon from his creator’s grip and backpedaling out of the man’s reach. Bendy hid his face into Sammy’s neck, who stroked his head with one hand. The musician was shaking himself.

“What the fuck was that, Joey Drew?”

“Stay out of this, Sammy,” Joey ran a hand through his hair, “what it – what he did was dangerous and idiotic and can’t be tolerated.”

“Holy shit, he was playing a prank! Not coming after you with a knife!”

“This isn’t your concern, Samuel. Give Bendy back to me.” He held out his arms expectantly.

“Wha – no fucking way I’m ‘giving him back to you’, what the hell are you going to do? What the hell were you going to do? He’s a child, Drew!”

“And children need discipline, Samuel! I’m not going to ask again.”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you ask, you’re not getting near him until you cool off.” Bendy was quavering quietly in his arms, and Sammy could feel ink sticking his shirt to his skin. He took a few more steps back and risked a glance downward. The little toon hadn’t moved his face from the crook of the musician’s neck, clutching his shirt collar for dear life. It didn’t seem very farfetched.

Sammy felt sick.

In front of him, Joey seemed to deflate just a little bit and backed away several paces. He held his hands up in a peaceable gesture. “Okay, okay Sammy, I’m cooled off. See? It’s fine.”

“No, I want you to get some real distance for a while. Go,” he hesitated, a _go listen to Boris play_ on the tip of his tongue that suddenly sounded like a bad idea. “Why don’t you go out for a bit, yeah? It’s almost lunchtime anyway, get a bite to eat, maybe take a nap and just…think things through, yeah? I can watch them for a while. I’ll clean up here too.”

He took in Joey’s disheveled appearance: wrinkled clothes, scruffy hair and stubble, darkened eyes. The man looked a wreck, but regardless of his mental health, Sammy needed him out of the studio and away from the toons. Far, far away.

The animator hesitated, clearly tempted, so the musician added, “we can discuss what happened when you get back, but it’ll be easier for you after some time to rest, yeah?”

Finally, finally Joey’s resolve crumpled, and he nodded mutely before turning around and heading out. Sammy waited until he heard the telltale sound of the exit door before he sat down right where he was. Fully attentive to the little devil in his arms, he noticed belatedly that he had been shaking just as much as Bendy – in adrenaline, not fear – and that he hadn’t stopped soothing the poor thing. 

“Hey, you alright there?” Sammy murmured against the toon’s head. Comfort wasn’t his strong suit but damn it he would sure try.

Bendy didn’t respond, only mewled and made wet, smothered choking sounds. The rest of Sammy’s senses caught up to him and he felt cold, thick ink oozing down his collarbone onto his chest. He resisted the horrible shudder at the base of his spine.

“It’s okay, yeah? Joey’s going be gone for a while, and we’re going to calm down. Okay? This wasn’t your fault, Bendy. He absolutely should not have done that. You understand?”

It took a long time, but eventually the demon in Sammy’s arms nodded, heavy and deliberate. He raised his head and the man felt his throat catch at the sight. He couldn’t see Bendy’s eyes; they were completely covered over with ink. Half his face was indistinguishable, and if it were a different situation the musician might have felt fear at the unnatural sight of it. 

But this was not that situation. This was the equivalence of a small petrified child who cried blotchy ink tears and who needed someone so much better than him.

Sammy sighed, wrapping one unsteady hand around the back of Bendy’s head and dropping his chin beneath his horns. “Come on, little guy,” he whispered, “let’s go find Boris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop making promises I can't keep, especially about upload times. Sorry everyone.
> 
> Fun fact, I had an ending for this chapter that was completely different than what I actually wrote, but the last scene got away from me and the characters had their own ideas about how it went down. Good news is, this chapter is one of my longest so far.
> 
> Also, I know the newest chapter of the game came out a month ago, and while it's awesome and has given me some great ideas, I've found that too much of it clashes with both what I've already written and what I have planned for this story. SO: this story will be based on Chapters 1 and 2 of the game only. I might write a new origin story when the game is all done and we (hopefully) get all the lore, but that's still up in the air right now.
> 
> I don't know when I'll finish the next chapter. I'm really sorry, but life has been hectic and hard and uncooperative for recreational writing. I won't abandon this story though, I can promise you that.
> 
> Thanks again for everyone who reads, likes, and/or comments - you guys are so awesome and you make my entire week! Have a good one!


	12. Got a Secret, Can You Keep It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the four deal with the fallout, Sammy demands some answers, and promises are made in questionable sincerity. 
> 
> (Heads up for readers: this chapter discusses abuse, although nothing is explicitly done or stated. It's fairly mild for now, and I probably should have put a warning in the last chapter, but just know it will get worse in future chapters.)

Boris’ day had gone from lovely to not lovely in a matter of minutes. He was listening to banjo-heavy songs, placing his fingers on the strings along with the notes but not playing out loud. He was keeping up with the speed of it fairly well, if he did say so. Only a few mistakes.

And then Mr. Lawrence came bursting into the room with his little buddy sobbing in the man’s arms. 

The reaction was instinctual – Boris stood immediately and held out his arms as Bendy practically launched himself away from their musician friend. The little demon wasn’t whining or crying out like when he was usually upset, only making squelching sounds like stepping in a puddle of ink, and it was unnerving. The wolf looked up in distressed confusion.

“What happened?”

Mr. Lawrence sagged against the door frame, and Boris noticed he was trembling a little. “Your creator went fucking off the rails is what happened.”

“What?” 

“We tried playing a scare prank, tried to get him to lighten up. He started yelling and, uh…” he shifted, “really upset your little pal there.”

Speaking of the devil, Bendy no longer seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating now that he was in his best friend’s arms, but he was still very upset. Ink was dripping down over his head in heavy rivulets. The top half of his face wasn’t visible, and dark splatters were coming off of the rest of his body. Mr. Lawrence kept talking, half to himself.

“I didn’t realize he was so out of it. I don’t think he’s been getting any sleep, really. Doesn’t excuse the fact that he – Boris?”

The elder toon was slowly sinking back onto his chair, doing his best to clear the thick liquid out of Bendy’s eyes. He wasn’t very successful.

“Boris.”

“Uh, what was that, Mr. Lawrence? I’m sorry.”

The musician looked him over and brought two hands to his temples. “God, this is bad. This is really, really bad.” He got off the wall and began pacing around the opposite side of the room. Boris kept half his attention on him. The other half was still trying to calm the little toon down. “Just, just what am I supposed to do?”

“…Mr. Lawrence?”

“The signs have been there, you’ve both been nervous and twitchy, why didn’t I…? I didn’t think he’d ever –” The man stopped pacing and rubbed his temples again. He sighed and looked sideways at the wolf. “Boris, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, and it’s obvious I’ve put it off for too long. What was going on when I was gone?”

Boris drew his legs up in front of him on the chair, shielding Bendy. He was wide-eyed.

“I – I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Don’t give me that! The entire last month I’ve been back you tiptoe around Drew like a mouse in a cat’s den, and we both know your little friend can’t stand to be around him. What’s he been doing?”

The older toon shook his head and curled in further, and the demon in his arms curled up with him. Mr. Lawrence let out a long, quiet breath.

“Boris, buddy, you can tell me anything; you know that? I’m not going to be angry at you. Okay?” His voice got lower, softer. “If you’re worried Joey might hear us, he’s gone, alright? I got him out of the building for probably an hour or so. It’s okay.”

They stared at each other a moment before the musician sat carefully on the floor across from them. He held his hands out.

“Whatever you say won’t leave this room, alright? I just want to make sure you and Bendy are safe. Your creator really scared him – really scared _me_ , and I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

The wolf hesitated and risked a glance at the inky mess in his lap. Bendy wasn’t crying anymore, just hiccupping, and was completely still where he sat. Only his eyes moved, darting back and forth between them in trepidation.

_“Under no circumstances are you to tell Sammy about this. Do you understand?”_

Mr. Drew had been talking about the way he made them. He hadn’t said that about the other things. So maybe…maybe it was okay to tell Mr. Lawrence about it. Right?

“He uh…” Boris cleared his throat, tried again. “He just gets real mad sometimes. Is all.”

“Is all.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t…hurt us? How would Mr. Drew hurt us?”

“Has he ever, Christ I don’t know, has he ever laid his hands on you? Pulled you too hard? Pushed or hit you?”

“N-no? That…that sounds horrible, Mr. Lawrence! I can’t even imagine…”

His music teacher studied his ink-stained hands before making eye contact with Bendy, who flinched and pressed his mouth into a thin line but didn’t turn away. Boris made the connection.

“He, he didn’t, he didn’t _hurt_ Bendy did he?” 

“Not physically, I don’t think. I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure he was going to.”

Boris felt sick. 

“Which is why I’m asking you now; has Joey done anything that’s made you nervous? Anything that doesn’t feel right?”

“I…he used to yell, a lot. Before you came, sometimes. He’d get really mad about his work or somethin’ outside and he’d come here and yell. Sometimes,” he hesitated again until Mr. Lawrence nodded gently, “sometimes he’d punch or kick the walls or throw a chair, and then he’d tell me sorry. He never hit me though.”

Mr. Lawrence chewed on his lip and his eyes drifted away, unfocused. “Has he ever broken anything?”

“Yeah, uh, he’s made holes in the walls, but he’s promised ta fix ‘em up.” The toon thought about how many holes there were now, barely covered by one or two wooden boards that had been sitting for months now. From the look on the musician’s face, he was thinking about it too.

“Okay, so he lost his temper a lot. And then he stopped when I started visiting?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Bendy moved out of a fetal position to lean against Boris’ legs, watching and listening. His face was visible again and he was no longer dripping. It reminded the wolf of something else. 

“After you left again, Mr. Drew worked to make Bendy. But uh, when he came out of the machine, he was all covered in ink like this. And when he got sad or scared. And Mr. Drew was kinda…” he winced but plowed through, “he was kinda rough with him sometimes. He just started getting’ angry real easy again. Is all.”

“Mm…and you weren’t nervous about anything until that point?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Okay. Okay. Is there anything else, Boris? Anything else that made or makes you nervous?”

A dead child appeared in his mind. “’No Mr. Lawrence, I think…I think that’s everything.”

The musician leaned back against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes stayed on the toons. “You’ll tell me if that fu– if your creator does something that makes you uncomfortable, right?”

“O-okay. We will,” Boris looked down at Bendy, who opened his mouth and gave a confirming squeak. “Or, I guess I will, Mr. Lawrence.”

Sammy stood and strode over, placing one hand on the wolf’s shoulder and the other slowly on top of the devil’s head. He stared Boris dead in the eye.  
“Do you promise me?”

“I…” _Do you understand?_ “Yes, Mr. Lawrence. I promise.”

...

When Joey came back some two hours later, he was quiet and apologetic and seemed rather worn down. Bendy refused to be in the same room as him, but Sammy and Boris greeted him back with wary watchfulness and tentative tenderness respectively. The men waited for the toons to occupy themselves elsewhere before Sammy roughly ushered Joey into the nearest room and closed the door behind him.

“You know Drew, I was really trying to stay out of your business as much as possible, because frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about you or your life. But that crossed a line back there.” 

The animator mutely stared off to his side and didn’t respond. Sammy tried again.

“You said yourself that those two out there are crucial to this whole ‘fame and fortune’ deal. So what was… _that?_ ”

“I didn’t hurt him…” Joey mumbled, almost dreamily.

“Bullshit you didn’t! He was hysterical, Joey! I wouldn’t be surprised if there are bruises under that black body!” There was no reply yet again, and Sammy rubbed his eyes with pinched fingers. This wasn’t getting them anywhere.

“Okay then, how about why you…did what you did. You haven’t been sleeping at all lately. Is that why you snapped? Come to think of it,” the musician pondered the man before him, “you have been really jumpy for a while now. Are uh, have you been seeing things?”

Joey puffed out a laugh. “Seeing things,” he murmured, and finally made eye contact with Sammy. “Yes, I suppose I have been seeing things.” His mouth thinned at the furrowed expression on the other. “But it’s truly none of your concern.”

“It is when I see a man – one I thought I knew – lay his hands on a child…toon, whatever, with the intent to do him serious harm. We all knew you had a temper back in the day but that was…” Terrifying. Dangerous. 

_Abusive._

“Look, I won’t – I’m not picking a side here, Joey. I’m just worried. About you, and them. I happened to be there to stop things, but I need to know that it won’t happen again. Because I might not be there next time if it does. And that wasn’t fucking okay. Not even once.”

His employer had the decency at least to look ashamed of himself, or the closest Sammy had ever seen him to it. “I am very sorry, Sammy. I assure you that I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I certainly never intended to cause any harm to either Bendy or Boris.”

“Intended or not you still did, Joey Drew. I need your word you won’t ever do anything like that again.” The musician held up a hand when Joey opened his mouth. “Not physically, not emotionally, not verbally. At all. If you’re having a rough day, you keep it out of the studio and away from them. No exceptions. Got that?”

Joey looked at him tiredly for a few seconds, his eyes exhausted but calculating. Finally he held out a hand, which Sammy took.

“You have my word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving that last chapter off for so long. I had a lot of life things going on that took sorting. It's much better now though, and I've got my writing groove back! Yay!
> 
> A few things before I end my notes: I do not condone abuse in any form. I'm not going to glorify it or soften it; it's terrible, it's wicked, and if you are in a situation, please know that there are lifelines out there to help you.
> 
> This story is dark, and will stay dark. It's only touched on some things thematically so far, but the worst is far from over. If themes like what was covered in this chapter or earlier ones isn't something you're okay with reading about, that's totally fine! I'm just warning you that this is just the beginning.
> 
> Finally, pleeeease stop asking if Alice is going to be in this. I'm fascinated by her character in-game, and I know she's very popular among fans, but what you have to realize when reading this story is that I started it when the game's 2nd chapter was barely out. Alice was literally only a poster character at that point, and we didn't have any idea whether she'd be introduced or not. I'm planning to finish my story as if only the first 2 chapters were it for the game, because that's when I got inspiration and I've already had an ending planned long before the 3rd chapter arrived.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and/or left kudos. You're all awesome!


	13. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bendy comes to some conclusions he doesn't like. Ink Flows. The beginning of the end is in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for slight implied body horror this chapter.

Contrary to what he knew his creator thought, Bendy was not stupid.

Sure, he did things he wasn’t supposed to, like climb on top of dressers or write on the walls or drip ink too much or _make Joey mad because he might_ – no. Those were things you weren’t supposed to do, and he did them.

Double sure, he _didn’t_ do things he was supposed to. Like listening to Boris and Sammy all the time, or acting his “age”, whatever that meant. Or learning how to talk. Or stopping himself from dripping too much ink. Or knowing what might make Joey mad because, because _because_ …

Well.

Bendy was young, and curious, and got into trouble a lot, but he was not stupid. He knew in some part of himself what might have happened if Sammy hadn’t pulled him from his creator’s arms when the prank went wrong. He kept up with the conversation about it afterwards, between Sammy and Boris, and understood what the man was asking them. About Joey. And though he reluctantly had to admit the older toon was right, that nothing had really happened, he knew what was going on. That Boris didn’t realize who their creator really was, or what he could do. That Sammy was figuring out some things he probably wished he hadn’t, based on the look on his face.

The little devil had to agree with the human.

And so Bendy watched, with eyes a little less wide with wonder, hands a little less likely to explore, and mind a little less willing to trust. He stayed away from his creator when he could, and tried to be calm and obedient when he couldn’t avoid the man. It didn’t help that he still had – dreams, Boris called them – that left him unsettled and quiet in the morning sometimes. Blurs, and colors, and loud sounds like when Joey had once dropped a glass. Only louder and worse and all around him. 

He felt pain, too. It made his arms and legs hurt and sore, sometimes for hours at a time, like his body was trying to stretch itself out past what it could. Boris didn’t seem to have it, so he assumed it was just another thing he did that was wrong. Couldn’t talk. Dripped ink. Body sore. _Not right._

Bendy was restless. He was hurting, in more ways than one. And he was so, so frustrated in his creator for making him feel that way. In Sammy, who gave music but not enough to help, not really. In Boris, who didn’t understand, didn’t _get it_ that Joey wasn’t just “having a hard time” and things would “get better soon, you’ll see buddy”.

But most of all, he was frustrated in himself. Because he wasn’t perfect like everyone else was. He was wrong. He was messed up.

Three days after everything had calmed down, and his creator had apologized, and things were coming back to normal, something happened. Something snapped.

_He_ snapped.

It was a minor inconvenience. A time when he and Boris were practicing their letters because Sammy had gone home for the night. Nothing should have happened. Joey hadn’t even been there to start it.

“No, no buddy, the ‘R’ goes like this, not the ‘K’. That’s not right, let me…”

_Not right_

Boris had no warning. One moment he was reaching for Bendy’s hand to guide it in a better way. And then that hand shot forward and grabbed his own arm.

“I, whoa what –”

**BURNING HURT OW WHAT ARE YOU DOING PLEASE BENDY STOP IT HURTS STOP!**

Bendy came to with a start and his hand was buried in his best friend’s arm. Ink flowed between them like a pulsing snake, travelling from the thrashing wolf to a little demon who wasn’t quite as little anymore.

In horror Bendy let go, trying to stop, but the damage was done. Boris cradled his dripping arm to his chest and whimpered, too in shock to think clearly. The devil watched the blackness bleeding onto their practice paper and blot out the words. Within an instant the ink had destroyed everything they had worked so hard for and left nothing but stains and suffering.

_Just like me_

He stood up and almost keeled over from a height he was not used to. Something thrummed deep and powerful in his body but he refused to give it thought, because Boris was hurt, was still hurting, and it was all his fault. Dark fell in a familiar curtain over his face.

Bendy fled.

...

Joey heard the screaming from the ink machine room and came running out only to collide with a hysterical toon who was as tall as his waist instead of just above his knees. Startled, he froze as the toon wailed even louder at the sight of him and took off another direction, leaving a distinct and easy-to-follow trail of dark, gooey liquid.

It took a moment to process that that was Bendy, and a few more to realize that the toon was upset but Boris hadn’t come to calm it down. This fact, he decided, was more concerning, so Joey walked down the hall he had seen the devil come from. It wasn’t his job to console the creature. But it was his job to make certain his creations were doing their jobs.

He was not prepared for the sight that met him.

Ink was spread like the scene of a crime all over the floor, covering wood and paper alike. There was one large mess of it from where Bendy’s footprints originated, and Joey found another trail like someone had scooted out of the filth on their butt. It wrapped around the corner and he followed it to find Boris leaning against the wall, trying to staunch the ink flow from its arm with its overalls. The wolf looked up at him and made a noise.

“Oh, Mr. Drew…”

The animator must have still been in a state of shock, because he took a step back and sat down right where he was. He kept blinking uncomprehendingly between the wound on the wolf’s forearm and its pain-filled and pleading eyes.

“Please Mr. Drew, what do I do?”

Like clockwork Joey reached stiffly for the toon, who offered its dripping arm with a wince. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and slowly pressed on the injury. All it did was stain as the ink leaked through. Seeing the futility of it helped bring Joey into the present.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know…” Boris was on the verge of tears. “We were writing, and – please don’t get mad at him, Mr. Drew, please…”

This was getting them nowhere. The man stood up holding the wolf’s arm, who was forced to stand as well. He gestured with his head towards another hall.

“I have a first aid kit in my office down this way, we’ll see what we can do. And you’re going to tell me what happened.” It was said in quiet finality, with just a lilt of warning.

“Okay, I…okay.”

They walked in silence. They entered the room in silence. Boris wilted against the wall while his creator rummaged around for dressings. There was no sign of Bendy.

To clean the wound, Joey ended up using a box of tissues without antiseptic to avoid causing more damage. He noted to himself that there were four points similar to puncture wounds where the ink ebbed from, and he was careful to wrap it all up in gauze.

Boris wouldn’t meet his eyes the entire time, and when Joey finished the wolf slumped down to its knees, tired and subdued. The animator sat in his desk chair and swiveled to face his creation.

“Now you’re going to be completely honest with me. Tell me what happened.”

“Um,” the toon rubbed its bandages and grimaced. “Well, we were writin’ like we always do after Mr. Lawrence leaves –”

“Yes, yes, I already know that. Stop stalling and get to the point.”

“I…I was helpin’ Bendy with his letters cause he always gets the ‘R’ and the ‘K’ mixed up and…” Boris trailed off at the look on Joey’s face and scrambled to speed up. “I don’t know, but I think he was just gettin’ frustrated is all, cause he grabbed my arm and then. And, and then…”

Four puncture marks. “You’re saying Bendy did this to you?”

“He didn’t mean ta, I swear –”

“ _Answer me._ ”

A flinch and a whine, “yes Mr. Drew, he did but he didn’t mean it, honest!”

Joey rubbed his chin and considered. The demon had been considerably bigger when their paths had crossed earlier. “What exactly did he do?”

“Uh…”

“I ran into him before finding you, and he was taller. Up to my waist. How did that happen?”

“Uh…” Boris repeated, “I don’t know. When he – when it happened, ink was comin’ out of my arm. And Bendy was getting’ bigger. But I don’t, I don’t know.”

“Mmm. Well then,” the creator stood, very calmly, and clasped a tight hand on the wolf’s shoulder. “Why don’t we find him and ask?”

...

Bendy ran like he was possessed. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, couldn’t think. Walls collided with him every which way as the toon frantically fled, and his steps left sick squelching sounds behind. 

Joey was going to kill him. He had hurt Boris ( _he had hurt Boris!_ ) and Sammy wasn’t here to save him and he knew without a doubt that this would be the final straw. There was no way he’d be forgiven for what he’d done. He didn’t even know if Boris would survive; he didn’t know what he had done.

All he knew was that it had been so quick, so easy, and he no longer had aches in his body. But he couldn’t stop to think about it, because it didn’t matter, because his creator would have no reason to stop whatever he had almost done three days before.

The poor devil finally ran head first into a closed door and fell backwards in a blotchy heap. It was this impact that brought a semblance of sense back into him, and Bendy took a second to wipe ink from one eye and peer around.

Oh. This was the entrance to the stairwell. It had been expressly forbidden by their creator to ever enter. In fact, he usually left the door locked when he could remember.

Bendy considered his options. He knew it was only a matter of time before Joey found him. The mess he’d left behind guaranteed it. And there was no way he was getting out of this in one piece. It was a certainty that sat in his gut and made him sick. There were no hiding spots on this floor that nobody knew about.

But the stairs…

They – well Boris, really – had asked Sammy once where he used to make music when he worked for the studio, and the musician had told them about his office and the recording studio down below. How big it had been. How, when Joey had installed his new machine, the ink had leaked and flooded rooms, sometimes so bad they had to stop and clean it up or nothing would work.

The demon tested the doorknob, so much easier now with his strange new height. It was unlocked, and he swung it open hesitantly. There was an upstairs and a downstairs, and a faded out sign that might have once told someone what was up and what was down.

Bendy didn’t need that sign. He wasn’t planning on going upstairs, because that was Joey’s territory even if he hadn’t been there for quite a while. Instead, the toon made his way to the edge of the first step down and stopped. It was unlighted, and he couldn’t see very well or very far.

He brushed the rest of the ink from his face, taking advantage of the moment of restraint his mind gave him. This was the turning point. If he hid down there, he would probably be hiding for a very long time. There was no coming back from this. 

But there was no coming back from what he had done to his best friend, either.

A self-reassuring breath, a quick closed-eyed apology to Boris, and Bendy took one step. Then another, and another and another.

He disappeared from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have no idea how long I've been planning to get to this part. I was forcing myself to develop the characters first though, and LET ME TELL YOU HOW HARD THAT WAS WHILE WAITING TO GET TO THIS.
> 
> Anyyyyway, we'll be getting into some darker stuff from here on out, not nearly as much fluff. I'd been trying to balance it out, but no promises anymore. We all already know how it ends, but getting there is half the fun ;)


	14. Manipulating Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters and men lurk in the depths.

Boris stared in disbelief at the incriminating trail leading into the stairwell. Blobby footprints marked a descent downstairs, a place that was absolutely, positively forbidden. Just seeing that much was already pushing his frayed nerves even higher and making him rub his bandaged arm.

He was so tired.

A brief glimpse of his creator was risked and quickly regretted. Mr. Drew had that strange look about him again, and had yet to move or say anything. He was probably still trying to figure all this out. Honestly, the wolf felt the same way.

Eventually there was a sigh as the man beside him put a hand to his eyes. He looked tired too, but Boris didn’t dwell on that because the thing dominating his mind was whether his buddy would be okay. Bendy could get hurt down there. Bendy could already _be_ hurt. Bendy…

Bendy had hurt him.

Turmoil churned in the toon’s belly and made him whine the smallest bit. None of this was right. 

“Well Boris, it seems as though your friend has been doing a lot of things he shouldn’t today. Shall we continue?”

Mr. Drew strode ahead, strangely and suddenly confident, and paused at the top of the stairs to look pointedly at the wolf. Boris swallowed.

“Ya mean, I’m going down with you?”

His creator smiled a very thin smile. “Of course. How else could we get the little imp to come out? He’s not very fond of me, after all.”

Oh. Boris wrung his hands and winced when pain arced up his left arm. He followed Mr. Drew reluctantly as they began their descent, and alarm niggled in his brain like a traitorous parasite.

_I wish Mr. Lawrence was here._

...

It was very dirty downstairs.

Bendy swatted at yet another flake of dust, trying to move quickly but hampered by broken furniture and darkness and grime. He had told himself that he would hide in the biggest ink puddle he could find, but at his first encounter with it – flooding an entire hallway and coming up to his chest – he nearly had a panic attack because it churned and pulsed around him just like what had happened back, back there. He barely made it through, and convinced himself that he hadn’t hid because he was still too close to the stairs; it surely wasn’t because the thought of it made him sick.

So he trudged on, and jumped at shadows, and listened for signs of anyone coming after him.

Eventually he came to a stop in front of a big blocked door, with a panel of three blinking lights on the wall that he couldn’t reach. The door didn’t budge when he pushed and hit it, so with a deep sense of dread the toon turned around.

There was motion in front of him. Something moving in the ink.

Bendy flailed wildly and fell backwards, hitting the door behind him and watching in trapped horror as something about his height rose from an ink puddle and stretched for him with long, scary fingers. It had no eyes, no real face, and it made a noise like someone sucking the air out of a soup can.

The liquid appendage almost touched him when the devil cried out and flung himself to the side, crashing to the floor. He turned just in time to see the…creature run straight into the door with a wet _shlop_ and break apart. Its pieces turned to mush and drained through the floor, and some seeped into the cracks under the barred door.

It didn’t come back, but Bendy stayed frozen for a few seconds more in case it might. Blackness creeped into his vision again and the toon brushed ink out of his face. _That…what was that?_

He didn’t have the time to dwell on it though; in the same moment he heard a crash from somewhere far away, and swearing by a voice that filled him with more fear than that thing could ever attempt to. It was followed by the echo of a pained, worried voice.

“Bendy, buddy? It’s just us! Where are ya, are you okay? I’m okay! Please come out!”

Boris was calling for him. He wanted so badly to go back, to hug his best friend and apologize as best he could and let everything be normal again. But Joey was with him. It didn’t matter whether the older toon forgave him, because Joey wouldn’t. They both knew it.

But he was stuck here, and there was no way he was hiding in that flooded hallway because that was too obvious and he’d be found in an instant. Bendy looked at the door, and at the stains left by the thing that had attacked him. He didn’t know if it was really gone, or if it was just in the next room now. He knew for certain though that it had come out of the ink. It had become a puddle and then came out of that puddle. 

If it was anything like him, with its droopiness and liquid face, then maybe he could do the same thing. He flexed a gloved hand and tried to picture it melting like the creature. It wasn’t hard. Drops began falling from his body, and Bendy could feel himself shrinking from that horrible tallness down to his regular size again.

And then he felt himself shrinking some more.

...

Boris called out again to his buddy, and got no response. His creator tripped over another raised floorboard and cursed some more. They hadn’t brought a flashlight and it was very hard to see down here. He was hugging the walls and inching very, very slowly, but Mr. Drew was getting impatient and upset and was trying to move around with his hands in front of him. 

“Goddamned thing,” the man muttered to himself. “Not staying where it needs to.”

“It’s not the board’s fault, Mr. Drew. It’s just real old, and it’s hard to see down here is all.”

His creator snorted. “Yeah, sure, the board.” But he stopped cursing, and Boris took the chance to call out again.

“Please buddy, I ain’t mad! I wanna make sure you’re safe! Where are you? Please – whoa.”

The wolf had taken one step around a corner and felt ink lap at the legs of his overalls. He paused in surprise, and took in the sight of an entire flooded hallway. Even with virtually no light the stuff was distinctly black against the natural dark, and it gave the illusion of a bottomless pit of ink. Mr. Drew came up beside him and surveyed the scene.

“Well, the good news is my eyes have finally started adjusting.” The man crouched and swirled the ink with his pinky. “The bad news is that I don’t know how we’re going to get through this.” 

He looked up and Boris followed his gaze. He could faintly see pipes twisting in and out of the walls, and black stains dripped from more than a few. 

“It looks like a pipe or two might have burst a while back. I haven’t been down here in so long, I didn’t think to check.” Mr. Drew stood back up and wiped his finger on a handkerchief. “The hallway dips down on either side, so it’s probably deeper than it looks. Might be up to our knees.” 

The toon honestly thought it looked a lot deeper than up to his knees, but he stayed quiet and let his creator think. He was really, really tired.

“Well, I doubt Bendy hid in here. I think I see its – his footprints on the other side. I’m surprised he got through it at all. But I’m not going in there.”

Boris blinked, startled, when the man turned right around to go back the way they came. He turned too and instinctively grabbed Mr. Drew’s arm with his own uninjured one. The action stopped them both.

“Boris, let go of me,” his creator’s voice was the same calm as when he’d suggested they look for Bendy. But the wolf didn’t let go. “What do you think you’re doing, Boris?”

“We, we’re not – leavin’ him down here, are we?”

“I asked you to let me go.” Mr. Drew pulled his arm away, and the toon let him, wringing his hands. “Do not ever touch me like that again, Boris. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Mr. Drew but we ain’t leavin’ Bendy, right? We’re just lookin’ somewhere else?”

“There’s nowhere else to look. I made my stance perfectly clear, I’m not stepping into that ink. I’m going back upstairs.” He started to walk, but he came back when the wolf didn’t move and took his left hand. “Let me rephrase that. We are going back upstairs. Come.”

“But I – but he needs us, we can’t –!” Boris protested, pushing his weight into the heels of his feet. “He’ll be all alone down here! Mr. Drew!”

His creator stopped dragging and gave him a long look. “Yes, he’ll be alone, but that was his decision. If he wants to face the consequences of his actions, he can come up whenever he pleases. It was his choice to run. We are letting him know we won’t play that game.”

“But I –”

“He didn’t apologize to you, did he?”

The wolf closed his mouth with a _thnk_.

“That’s what I thought. He’s not remorseful, Boris. He was probably upset when he hurt you, but I have no doubt it was because he thought he’d be in trouble. Give him a few hours and he won’t feel bad about this anymore.”

“Mr. Drew, that’s not true, Bendy –”

“Bendy _what_ , Boris? Bendy has never hurt you like that before? He didn’t mean to? He’s sorry?” His creator waited until the toon reluctantly nodded. “That wasn’t sorry, my creation. Bendy ran because he thought we’d be upset with him. If he really didn’t mean it, like you claim, wouldn’t he have revealed himself by now? To apologize and set things right? The way Sammy and I have taught you to?”

“I…”

“But he does not listen to us, Boris. We both know how any guidance we give goes in one horn and out the other. He’s constantly getting into trouble. Breaking things, writing on the walls, making things hard for you. You know how tiresome it is.”

Mr. Drew tightened his grip and Boris whined as his arm ached under the gauze. “Sure, but Bendy doesn’t mean it, he, he’s tryin’ to be better. He’s…getting better.”

“No he’s not. Please don’t delude yourself. You’re smarter than that. He nearly dropped Sammy’s violin the other week. He pushes me constantly when he knows that’s not nice; that scare prank he pulled on me three days ago just proves it.”

“But, but he was doin’ it with Mr. Lawrence! They weren’t tryin’ to hurt ya, just havin’ fun. And you…Mr. Lawrence said you almost, that you tried –” Boris made a choked sound as he tried not to think about what his creator might have done. A hand cupped his snout and the wolf made teary eye contact with Mr. Drew.

“I won’t deny that I lost my temper that day and did some things I now regret,” the man’s voice was low and soothing, “but he provoked me when I was tired, which you know is wrong. Nothing came of that incident. But Boris,” he rubbed the toon’s bandages gently, “what happened today is undeniable. He attacked you unprovoked. He actually hurt you, and then he fled. I recognized my actions were inappropriate, and I am making an effort to keep it from happening again. He has not, and there is a good chance that he will not realize that until it repeats itself. Do you understand the difference?”

Boris understood and wished he didn’t.

“I know how much you care for Bendy, my creation. I know he cares for you as well, but he thinks differently than either of us. It takes more to make him understand. Not like you, because you’re perfect. The most perfect Boris I’d ever seen. You know I’m right, you always know I’m right. You’re my creation, and I love you.”

“You, y-you love me?”

“Yes, Boris, I do.” Mr. Drew hugged him carefully, and the wolf returned it, tucking his head shamefully against the man’s head as tears fell freely down his cheeks. He hadn’t heard his creator tell him that since before Mr. Lawrence had arrived, and he was sick with worry and turmoil and he hurt in so many ways that the dam couldn’t stay back anymore.

Boris couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this hard.

Mr. Drew kept his arms around the toon even as he turned them around and started walking back towards the stairway, step by slow step. He whispered encouraging words all the way, letting Boris hang on as tightly as he needed. 

“I know, Boris, I know you’re hurting. It’s been a stressful few days, hasn’t it? It’ll be alright. We can make it, that’s it, just like that. Good boy.”

They were at the bottom of the stairs when his creator nudged the wolf gently from his shoulder. Boris wiped his eyes and sniffled loudly – he wasn’t a quiet crier like Bendy tended to be. But Bendy wasn’t here, Mr. Drew was. And Mr. Drew was urging him up the stairs.

“Can we…can we leave the door open in case he comes back?”

“Of course, Boris.”

“Okay, that’s good, that’s…if he doesn’t come back by tomorrow, can we maybe look for him? With Mr. Lawrence?”

The man paused halfway between steps, but only for a moment. “We’ll see what happens, Boris. But that’s a nice thought. I’ll talk to Sammy about it. For now let’s go get ready for bed.”

“Okay.”

Soon the lights from upstairs were bringing everything back into focus and pushing the dust and darkness away. Boris took a quick, shuddery breath and wiped his muzzle one more time.

They stepped into the bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez Sammy, leave for one night and everything goes wrong. Might as well pack a sleeping bag, honestly.
> 
> This is where everything starts to go into motion. For those wondering why Boris might seem so trusting of his creator over Bendy, what's important to note is Joey was literally all he had for nearly four months. No other contact, no basis for what's right or wrong, no recognition of manipulation in any of its forms. While Bendy has only known a creator who considers him flawed and irritating, Boris has had no reason not to trust Joey, even after learning about the toon origins. Even when he's subconsciously wary of him, he still takes his word for things because that's all he's ever needed to do. The prank incident is the real, conscious beginning of that shift from "my word is law" to "I'm not who you think I am" but it's only been a few days and Boris has just been physically hurt by his best friend. He's not really in the right mind, poor buddy.
> 
> Eh, sorry to ramble, psychological stuff like this fascinates me even as it makes me sad. I hope you like this update; thanks to everyone who continues to read it - you're all wonderful!


	15. Stay On Model, Follow The Script

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything sits on the cusp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for body horror

They had stopped following him.

Boris and his creator had stopped following him, and now Bendy was alone, and stuck halfway between solid and liquid. There was a trail of inky bits of himself from under the other side of the door as he dragged his molten body across the floor, and he was crying silently again.

Becoming a puddle was horrifying. He had shed his extra ink – Boris’ ink – and that had been easy if strange. It left a tingling along him from his head to his feet. If the devil had been aware of the words and meaning, he might have described it as getting a bucket of water dumped on his head. But he had no such way to give the feeling a depiction. He only had a desperate need to keep going, because he wasn’t quite small enough to disappear.

So he shrank, and shrank, and felt the stuff his body was made with drizzle down unpleasantly like syrup, until he could no longer feel his limbs and his head gunked over from coherent thought to mindless sensations. But he kept going, because among those sensations was overwhelming fear – fear of this place, of the things moving in the ink, of Joey’s wrath. 

And suddenly there was a living cartoon no longer. There was only a slimy ink puddle on the floor, pulsing unnaturally and sliding under the locked door with a wet glop. Coming to the other side, the puddle had rippled as if disturbed.

The disturbance was cognition.

Painfully and painstakingly a lump formed out of the ink, quivering with effort and the will to bring it to itself. It formed a pair of misshapen, pointed horns, and the first coherent thought brought words.

_Stay on model._

The horns did not fix themselves but the face came up next, with half-blind pie eyes and a fixed, elongated grin to finish the head like something from the pits of the underworld. The body was as plump as the first copy, and arms spread out to cling desperately for a hold, scraping against old floor boards and netting splinters into stained gloves. 

Bendy had pulled himself out of near nothingness with a physical gasp and sheer willpower. But he was no longer smoothed-skinned or made with correct proportions. His whole body dripped now along with his face, and legs and feet struggled to separate themselves from all the inky fluids left behind. One horn was shorter than the other, although he had no way of knowing this, and his mouth, once expressive and dynamic, was stuck in frozen joviality.

He shuddered with the wrongness of it all, the feeling of his body threatening at any moment to fall and splash again. Walking was hard now. Each footstep was less a step and more a slither, and Bendy overbalanced and fell several times. He couldn’t stop crying and couldn’t stop oozing, and wiping his face to see didn’t work when his arm was just as saturated in loose ink.

A noise filtered out on his right, like someone sucking the air out of a soup can, and the demon wheezed in alarm through his teeth as something cold and clammy and disgusting grabbed hold of his arm. It was stinging, hurting, _draining_ him and Bendy tried to pull away but only fell backwards, bringing the inky monster with him. More spindly fingers pawed at his chest, struggling to grasp the liquid ink.

The terrified toon reacted in panic and struck out blindly, hitting the thing directly in the head and dismantling it into several large blotches of ink. It hit him and he jolted as it absorbed itself into his body. Immediately his limbs felt less heavy and his feet weren’t melting quite as much. It was just enough to bring him back into relative coherency as well, and he laid on the floor, working down from near hyperventilation to something a little healthier.

It occurred to him in that moment that he didn’t know whether the thing that had attacked him was the same one from before, or a different one, or something else entirely. It also occurred to him that he might encounter more if he was planning to stay down here. His stomach flipped at the thought and the devil sat up and attempted to wipe his eyes.

He was a little more successful in this, and soon he was blinking at a dark room with one wall completely covered in a faded, peeling poster. Bendy couldn’t make out the words from his spot, so he struggled to stand and stumbled over to the billboard, leaning against it when the exertion proved a little too much. He studied the words and spelled out the letters M-U-S-I-C D-E-P-A-R-T-M-E-N-T.

Music was something he understood. The other one, not so much.

Below that was the word music again, and another word he didn’t know, but then he saw Sammy’s name. Boris had wanted them to learn how to spell their teacher’s name out of politeness. He placed his hands against the poster, knocking his head gently against the musician’s name as if attempting to reach him.

Bendy missed Sammy. He missed Boris. He just wanted everything to go back to normal, from before hurting his best friend. From before his creator trying to hurt him.

Tears threatened to drop and the toon kept them at bay by turning to his left and finding two crossroads. To his left was another door just like the one he had slipped through earlier. He shivered at the reminder of the hell he’d barely come out of, and instead tried the smaller door to his right. It was unlocked and swung open easily.

It was just as dark here as the rest of the place, but Bendy had long adjusted to the low lighting and he gaped at the huge room before him. There were at least ten chairs set up on a raised step, and when he stepped closer the demon saw several dusty old instruments. Some he recognized, like the violin, and others he didn’t.

The ceiling was taller than any he’d seen before, and there were empty windows high above him that made Bendy want to know whether he could reach them. At the other side of the room was a darkened booth with a chair and a strange contraption hanging from the ceiling that the devil didn’t know of. Another instrument, giant and bulky and new, sat next to the glass. 

The toon made his way over there but didn’t dare touch the intimidating instrument. He’d been taught not to do so without Sammy’s or Boris’ presence, and he respected them enough to follow it even down here. Instead he turned his attention to the little voice recorder underneath the instrument. There were a few of these upstairs in a hall closet, and he and Boris had often listened to them when they were alone and imagined what these people looked like. 

With a click the recorder gave static, and then a brand new voice filtered through. It was the clearest, prettiest voice Bendy had ever heard. 

_“It may only be my second month working for Joey Drew, but I can already tell I’m going to love it here! People really seem to enjoy my Alice Angel voice. Sammy says she may be as popular as Bendy someday.”_

The little devil perked at the sound of his name. He listened to this lovely voice, talking about new and lovely things, and the one cartoon he’d never met – Alice Angel. It was so nice and soothing that when the recorder stopped he played it again, and picked it up with him as he continued exploring the giant room.

Exhaustion had long since caught up with him though, and Bendy decided that he’d probably be safe here, at least for a little while. He closed the studio door and chose a spot beneath the huge instrument, which he deemed the most hidden and therefore most safe. In the end, he swept out the dust from underneath and curled up around the voice recorder, playing and replaying the message until his eyes drooped and he felt more like sleeping than crying.

His smile stayed fixed in his slumber.

...

Bendy didn’t come back upstairs that night. It wasn’t back by the time Joey changed his creation’s bandages and finally convinced it to get some sleep. And it wasn’t back the next morning, Joey knew, because he spent the night camped out in front of the door to the stairway to watch for it.

Bendy wasn’t there when Sammy arrived.

The musician was still in a bad mood from the incident three days prior, and had been watching his employer like, in Joey’s opinion, a predator waiting for its prey to slip up. The only time he was any less tense was when he was working with the toons, and only when their creator stayed out of their way. He was a man who lived for routine, and collided with change as a bull to a matador.

The door opened, and Joey braced himself for the impact.

“Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died?” Sammy peered at him from across the room, guard up and wary at the stony look he received. His face pinched with suspicion and he looked around. “Where are the toons?”

“Boris is still asleep, in the film room. He was…watching cartoons to help him sleep.”

“What? Why, what’s going on? He’s usually a morning person, not like –” the musician stopped. He tensed up. “What about Bendy? Where’s Bendy, Joey?”

“Bendy is downstairs. I don’t know where he is, exactly.” The animator stayed quiet, keeping eye contact.

“The fuck do you mean you don’t know where he is?! Why is he downstairs?” He approached Joey and grabbed his shirt, pulling him forward. “What did you do to him?!”

The creator attempted to pry the fingers off his coat, unsuccessfully. “I didn’t do anything to him, Mr. Lawrence. He attacked Boris last night and then fled downstairs.”

“He attacked him?! Bullshit!”

“If you don’t believe me, perhaps you should talk to the wolf.” They stared at each other, one breathing heavily in anger and the other icy and distant as only he could be. Finally Sammy pushed Joey roughly and stalked in the direction of the film room. His employer drifted a distance behind.

“I swear to god, Joey Drew, if you harmed a fucking drop of ink on either of them, there’s going to be hell to pay.” They headed down the long hallway and he continued. “Three days, three fucking days after I made you promise and you’re already starting shit, why am I surprised? Why do you still manage to surprise me after all these years? Scumbag, thank Christ you never had kids –”

Sammy turned the corner into the room and stopped short, so abrupt that Joey nearly ran into him. He peered over the musician’s shoulder and blinked, eyebrows climbing. Four of the chairs had been dragged to the far corner of the room into a semi-circle, propping up Bendy cutouts so they guarded the hiding place as faithful, flimsy sentries.

Boris was curled up behind it all, wrapped around the little Bendy plushy and holding his injured arm in fitful sleep. Six feet tall and still he managed to be the smallest thing in the room.

Joey watched from the doorway as Sammy worked his way hesitantly around the barrier and crouched in front of the toon. He reached out and barely brushed the white bandages with finger tips, then made contact with the wolf’s floppy ears. He pet them gently.

“Boris? Boris, wake up. It’s me, Mr. Lawrence.”

Boris moaned, exhausted and in pain. He cracked one large eye and looked up at the musician. “…Mr. Lawrence? Izzat you?”

“Yeah, bud, it’s me. What’s going on? What’s with the,” he considered the chair barricade, “what’s with the Bendy fort? You building stuff without me?”

The toon opened his other eye but didn’t get up from his spot. He rotated his head in Sammy’s direction. “No, I’m not, I was just…” his eyes fuzzed out and a sad expression graced his muzzle. “I thought…Bendy might want, want somewhere safe. He, has he come back…?” The wolf’s head flopped sideways at his creator. The man shook his head and Boris whined, closing his eyes again.

“Hey, Boris no, don’t zone out on me, come on. What happened? Why would Bendy need someplace safe? Where’s he gone?” The musician continued rubbing droopy ears and glanced back with a withering glare. Joey didn’t so much as twitch. 

“I told you Sammy, the little demon hurt him and fled.” The animator’s tone was flat, almost reprimanding. “It hurts that you don’t believe me.”

“Stay the hell out of this, _Joey Drew_.” Sammy hissed quietly, trying to get his hands under the toon’s armpits and help him up. “Boris, come on wolfy, we need to get up, we need to go get your friend. Can’t start our music lesson without him, c’mon.”

Boris grimaced but complied, picking himself up just enough to keep from being dead weight. He stopped at sitting and didn’t get up further.

“Mr. Drew is, is right…I got, my arm,” he choked back a whine and rubbed his bandages. Sammy continued to try and get him to stand. “We were…he didn’t mean it, Mr. Lawrence. We was just practicin’ letters, he wasn’t…he’s just scared is all, right?” The wolf latched onto the startled musician’s wrist, eyes wet. “Right Mr. Lawrence? He’s not, he didn’t mean it…”

“Course he didn’t mean it, where the fuck you get that idea?” There was no response, so Sammy plowed on. “Alright, look, the only way you can know for sure about that is asking him yourself, yeah? We’ll go downstairs, we’ll find him and ask him.”

“But…we already went down there, it…we couldn’t find him before…”

“Well it’s a good thing I know that place like the back of my hand then. Trust me, I know every hiding spot there is and then some.”

“…Really?”

“You bet your furry ass. But first you need to, get, up!”

The musician tugged again at the toon, who at last stood shakily on his feet and wrapped his arms around the grumbling man. He clung to him as they picked their way out of the Bendy barrier and back towards Joey. The two humans locked eyes.

“Are you coming down too, Mister Holier-Than-Us?”

The creator didn’t say anything, just trailed behind them like a stray cat. Sammy wanted to cuss the coward out, but Boris was struggling not to cry and he had his hands full – literally – trying to keep the poor thing calm. God, he really wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing.

The three of them reached the stairwell and stopped at the top, observing the drying ink track their littlest had left for them. Joey turned around there and looked off into the distance, mind made up. Sammy coaxed the toon to descend first, and paused next to his employer when the wolf was out just out of earshot.

“You’re a piece of shit, Joey Drew.”

It was a whisper, said with the finality of someone who was well and truly done. It got no reaction, only a glazed look and lips moving without sound. Sammy shook his head and followed Boris down. They disappeared into the dark, and Joey stood on at the crossroads. His face twitched once, as something left and was replaced by another, fouler thing.

He turned on his heel and went upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote this, I realized I had never read a Bendy fic that described what it was like to actually go in and out of the ink. There are probably plenty out there, but it was a weird little discovery that I personally haven't found one. I'm probably just uncultured lol.
> 
> So I have a few things to get off my chest: First, I WILL finish this story, I promise. I know so many stories whose authors gave up, or lost interest, or had life things that were much more important, but that will not happen here.
> 
> However, I will admit I'm burning out just a little bit. This story has been going for nearly a year - a year! - and while that's not a bad thing, I'm a little sad and frustrated at myself that I haven't finished it yet. I actually spent a good several months not as interested in BATIM anymore but tried to stay on this because I knew there were people who enjoyed reading it. I'm back full swing into Bendy again but now other fun things have caught my attention and life is really handing my butt to me on a bronze platter (Couldn't even afford silver, the jerk). I won't abandon this story, I refuse to do that to any of you, but keeping a consistent schedule has been hard this last week or so.
> 
> I'm sorry for the babbling that doesn't actually go anywhere, but I just wanted to be honest. If you're reading this, thank you. I'm still touched by how many click on my story and actively enjoy it. The pacing is weird, some chapters don't seem to go anywhere, it doesn't really apply to canon anymore with Chapter 3 out now, and I suck at giving you long juicy word counts. But knowing people have a good time reading it encourages me to keep going. So thank you. Every one of you is wonderful, and worthwhile, and deserves the best hug a fluffy Boris can give them.
> 
> Till next time.


	16. Empty Coffins Tell No Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (But guilty toons might spill the beans)

Two months before Joey Drew Studios was officially shut down, Joey Drew was forced to declare personal bankruptcy. He hadn’t paid heed to his spending on maintenance and employee salaries and his beloved ink machine. He couldn’t look past the here and now, couldn’t be bothered by the uncertainty of future. So when his last stock share failed him, Joey had no hope for comeback except one determined studio.

For the next two months, he survived off what little income came directly to him from the popularity of their cartoons. Bendy was a hit for sure, but other cartoons were hitting the spotlight and making names for themselves. Because of the financial losses of their director, the employees suffered just as much – particularly the animators. A few attempted to find work for other companies, but the country was still feeling the aftereffects of the Great Depression and they found they were stuck where they were.

Four weeks before the studio shut down, Joey quietly found another job on the other side of the city, with a commute that was costly but necessary. He was barely available for his animation job and refused to give reason for it, so the studio struggled to adapt without its primary director. Henry did his best to make up for the absence, but he was an artist first and a director last, and didn’t know a single thing about music or its makeup. Things were looking bleak.

Two weeks before the end, Thomas Connor was the first to actually bail, getting a job at an auto repair shop after his impressive improvisational learning with the ink machine. Joey happened to be present that day, and went into such a fit of rage in his office that people could hear it two floors down. Within the next fourteen days, six more employees escaped the moment they nailed down a job.

Three days before Joey Drew Studios was officially closed, Joey held a company-wide announcement where he thanked everyone for their hard work and dedication to Bendy and his friends, and then proceeded to proclaim that he was shutting down the production. It was met with anger and hysteria, but the animator disappeared from both the studio and the public eye and could not be found at his home. Henry, as co-creator, tried his absolute best to keep the company floating for the employees while they scrambled to find new work, but his efforts lasted only three days when the bank seized control of the building and everyone was kicked to the curb.

Over the next few years, most of the former animators and musicians lost money, cars, homes, and sometimes even family as they watched everything they had worked so hard for destroyed by the selfishness of a single person. Some, like Henry, survived through the sudden surge of military recruitment with the looming threat of the European occupation by Germany in 1939. Others, like Sammy, were able to hold on to their lives with nothing but the luck of work experience prior to the studio and skills beyond animation. Many were not nearly so fortunate.

A few committed suicide.

Joey, meanwhile, went by a different name and a disguised face until the media coverage died down and he no longer feared death threats by desperate former employees. He moved to a modest, tiny apartment closer to his new job – acting as a security guard for a fairly large art museum – and began saving his money, safeguarding his income from a life lesson learned too late. A year and a half after the downfall of Sillyvision, he found that the city was planning to demolish the old building and replace it with an extension for the local college.

The former animator saw red and had gone immediately to the city center to petition to keep it, claiming it was historic and a monument to their achievements in the world of film. The council had taken it into consideration – he turned out not to be the only one opposed to destroying the studio – but had ultimately come to the conclusion that unless it was repurchased, they would have no reason to pump money into an abandoned shell of former animation glory. Joey had nearly a quarter of the asking price and placed it all in as a deposit for the property, planning be damned.

He began adding to that deposit every time he earned a paycheck, and the city was desperate enough for money that they didn’t refuse the unconventional form of payment. Nearly four years after he’d first started paying for the studio again, Joey Drew paid the last dollar due and formally accepted the contract for his establishment a second time. He then took up the process of restoring rotted walls and flooded rooms in his spare time, and learned how to repair the ink machine from notes and voice recordings left behind by Thomas Connor.

It took a long year of mistakes and money, but Joey was determined not to lose his beloved place again.

And so, six whole years after its demise, Joey Drew Studios was no longer considered condemn-able by the fire marshal, and its owner decided he would continue Bendy’s legacy all by himself.

No matter the cost.

...

Boris watched wide-eyed as Sammy pried open a tiny niche in the wall and stuck his hand inside, scooping out three unused candles covered in dust. His arm returned to the hole and pulled out a packet of matches after a longer moment of searching.

“Of fucking course he’d leave everything here, the bastard couldn’t be bothered to return the stuff his employees left behind. The prick.” The musician blew off one candle and handed it to the wolf, who took it obediently. He then struck a match and lit the little thing. “There, now we’ll have some light, at least.”

“What is this…?” The toon whispered in awe, cradling the candle tenderly and staring into the tiny, flickering flame. He brought it up to his face. “What, Mr. Lawrence what is this?”

Sammy frowned, looking between the dancing flare and the dancing eyes watching it. “You’ve never seen fire before?”

“Fire? I’ve seen it, I think, in our cartoons.” Boris had a death grip on the candle and leaned in closer to gaze at it. His snout almost touched the light and he scrunched up his nose. “It’s really warm. And bright.”

“Yeah, it is, so don’t be touching it. You might get hurt if you do.” The musician was lighting another one. “It’s no wonder you didn’t find your friend earlier, how did you expect to see down here? Honestly.”

“I’m sorry,” the wolf mumbled, shame clear in the dim flare. He didn’t look at his teacher.

“No, I meant – it’s not your fault, pal. Don’t apologize for anything if it’s not your fault.” Sammy squinted ahead. He swept the candle low to look for tripping hazards. “Well come on, we’re not gonna get anything done just standing here.”

Boris followed obediently after him, completely silent as the musician slowly made his way through the decrepit lower level. He knocked on walls and listened for echoes, lifted loose boards and shined light in the holes beneath, and tapped ink pipes carefully, hoping for a response.

But then they turned a corner and Sammy stopped short at the open door down the hall and what was beyond it. He crept closer, believing at first that it was just a trick of the dark, and entered the smaller room.

There were coffins in here.

Three coffins, to be precise, placed standing up against the opposite wall. They were basic and wooden, but smudges from what was undeniably ground and dirt covered them all the way up. The musician backpedaled into a startled Boris.

“What is it, Mr. Lawrence?”

“Why the hell are there coffins down here?” Sammy grabbed the toon’s shoulder as he stepped into the room, slowing him down.

“Coffin? What’s a coffin?” Boris peered around the room. He saw chairs, and three big, weird-shaped boxes. He looked at his teacher, bemused. “Is it something bad?”

“Down here it is.” The man took a cautious step forward and inspected the closest one. It was a simple design, and probably not too old if the state of the wood was any indication. He hesitated, arms shaking, before passing his candle to a confounded wolf and attempting to open it. It did so with a loud creak, resisting him the entire time, but finally it was halfway open and Sammy let go.

It was empty.

“What the fuck,” he whispered, agitated and on edge. There was no denying the coffin had been buried at some point, but why it was here now was an answer he didn’t know if he wanted to learn. He couldn’t tell if it being empty was more relieving or unnerving.

The musician almost sprang two feet when his toon companion came up beside him, momentarily forgotten. He looked inside the casket curiously.

“Mr. Lawrence? Is this a coffin? Isn’t it just a big box?” He went to touch the inside of the lining and Sammy pulled him away.

“No, no don’t touch that, it’s…” He struggled to find the words. “Just don’t touch it, it’s not good.”

“What’s not good? Mr. Lawrence?”

“That’s a coffin, Boris. These are coffins. They’re used for funerals and burials, you – you didn’t see these before?” The toon shrugged and Sammy smacked his head. “Right, right, no candles, of course you couldn’t see them. But what…what are they doing here? What the hell has Joey been doing?”

Boris cocked his head, an eerie movement in the flickering light. “Why do people use big boxes for funerals? Ain't funerals for people who’ve lost people, Mr. Lawrence?”

“Yeah, but, Christ, I never thought I’d be explaining this. Coffins are where they put the dead bodies during the ceremony, and then the bodies are buried inside them.” He took his candle back and swept it over the other two. “These have been used, obviously, see the dirt marks? But where…where are the bodies now?”

In the darkness, he almost missed the way Boris tensed up. Almost.

“…Boris? Buddy, you got something to tell me?” Sammy gave him a sidelong look.

“N-No, Mr. Lawrence.” The wolf skittered away from the coffins, no longer interested in them. “We should, we should keep lookin’ for Bendy.” His eyes darted this way and that.

Sammy curled one hand a little harder around his candle. “Boris, what did I tell you four days ago?”

“…I could talk to ya about stuff.”

“That’s right. Anything that makes you uncomfortable. Anything.” He walked up to the wolf carefully. “And this is making you uncomfortable, that’s making me worried. What’s going on?” The musician paused and scowled. “And don’t say it’s just the coffins, you didn’t have a problem with those earlier.”

“I, I can’t…” Boris clutched his light like a lifeline. He glanced back in the direction of the stairs. “It’s not, nothin’s wrong, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Are you afraid he’ll hurt you if you tell me?”

The toon jolted at the words and their severity. “I’m, n-no, Mr. Lawrence, he wouldn’t do that…”

“Boris, Boris look at me.” Sammy waited until the wolf did so. “I swear to you, whatever you say will not leave this room. But I need to know you’re safe, and that Bendy is safe. I’m not,” he put a white knuckle to his eye, “I’m not the most tactful person, I get that, but I want you two safe. I don’t know what the hell that has to do with missing bodies, but…if you’re willing to tell me, I won’t get angry at you. I won’t interrupt if you have to figure out your thoughts. How does that sound?”

Boris stared at his teacher, then ducked down to the flames between them. “Can we…if I tell ya, can we talk and look for Bendy? I, I need somethin’ ta think about.”

Sammy nodded, face set and serious. “We can do that.”

So they skirted around the coffins and into the next room, where Boris finally, _finally_ worked his nerve up enough to tell his mentor about their creation, and the purpose of dead bodies and empty coffins, and specifically about a limp, lifeless little boy who came dressed in a black tuxedo and a cute white bowtie.

Sammy’s eyes remained dark.

By the time the two reached the flooded hallway, Boris had finished his story with a quiet, desperate plea not to let Mr. Drew know he’d broken his promise. The musician stared out at the expanse of liquid before them, still and silent.

“…Mr. Lawrence?”

“Sorry, pal, just…give me a minute. It’s a lot to process.” Sammy sat down in front of the hallway and set his candle against the wall. Confused, the toon did the same. After a minute of quiet, his teacher took the wolf’s hand and turned it palm up to look at it.

“Mr. Lawrence?” Boris was more concerned than confused now.

“You two are children.” Sammy murmured, very quiet. “You might have the body of an adult and look like the cartoons, but you’re so…young. Both of you are.” He raised his head and the toon was startled to see shining eyes. “I told myself it was the dumbest thing to come back, to trust the man who had ruined my life, but here I am tangled in the mess again.”

Boris fidgeted and pressed his bandaged arm against himself. “Then, why’d ya stay?”

“That’s the mystery, isn’t it?” The man let out a self-belittling snort. “By all rights I shouldn’t have stayed. Should have fucked outta here the minute I saw you for the first time. You can be real terrifying, Boris.”

“Oh, uh…”

“But I didn’t, and you know what?” He took the wolf’s hand and wrapped it in both of his own. “Thank god for that.” Sammy let go of him suddenly and stood, grimacing at the sight of the thick ink in their way. “And thank god I wore ugly pants today.”

The toon was still trying to understand what had just happened when he realized that his mentor was starting to wade into the black mess, candle out in front of him. Boris clambered to his feet and followed, wincing at the sound of his feet sucking through the ink. He caught up to Sammy by the time they reached the other side and they stepped out together.

As the musician tried unsuccessfully to shake out his pant legs, the wolf risked a question. “Um, Mr. Lawrence, what did you mean back there?”

“What, about the pants? I’d prefer not losing any pairs but of all the ones to get stained beyond repair these ones are –”

“No, I, I’m sorry for interruptin’ but, I meant, I meant the other thing.”

“Oh.” Sammy gave up on his clothes and placed his hands on the toon’s shoulders. “It means I’m not letting you two stay here any longer.”

“I…what?”

“This environment isn’t safe for either of you, and I promised I’d keep you safe. We’re going to find Bendy, and then I’m going to take you both to, I don’t know, probably my house, and we’ll figure things out from there.”

“You mean, the outside world? We’re gonna go out there?” Boris picked nervously at his gloves. “But Mr. Drew says it’s dangerous out there, and…it doesn’t sound very fun.”

“Yeah well, lucky for us I don’t give a rat’s ass about what he thinks. It’s safer out there than in here. Trust me on this one, Boris.” They moved into the adjacent room where a familiar inky trail led under a huge reinforced door. “Huh. Don’t know how your buddy managed that, but I know where the switches are. Come on, this way.”

It took some time to find all three buttons – Sammy’s memory was good for twenty-plus years, not perfect – but the door was opening with a loud grind and the wolf didn’t know what to think anymore. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of leaving. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave everything he’d ever known, everything he’d ever been.

But he pushed those thoughts aside when his teacher ushered him forward with a quick flick of his wrist, already walking along Bendy’s trail. Now wasn’t the time to think about such confusing things. He had a best friend to find.

His arm throbbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so much for the fan theory that Henry is a war veteran, sign me up yes.
> 
> Speaking of Henry, the room where Sammy and Boris find the coffins is the one where you pass out in the end of chapter 1, in case that was hard to tell (it probably was). This is a bit of a slow chapter, but our wolf has finally told his terrible secret and Sammy has come to the reasonable conclusion that Joey is a psychopath and that is not good for growing toons. The next few chapters will follow this format where the first part details some of Joey's time with the studio between its demise and the events of the story, and then continue into the here and now.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	17. Don't Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 years ago, Joey had the inklings of a plan. But right now, it's two broken toons that matter more to Sammy Lawrence.

At first, Joey Drew had attempted to reclaim Bendy’s legacy by producing cartoons all by himself. Over the next two years between work hours, he wrote scripts, drew storyboards, and tried – unsuccessfully – to write and record music. Eventually he overcame that issue when he found an entire storage room holding old recorded songs and stock sounds from past products. He refused to look for help in any of it, believing that no one would be reliable enough or understand the importance of his work. The animation itself was tedious and took long hours, and sometimes he was forced to leave one frame unfinished to go to work and come back half a day later to forget what he’d been doing in the first place.

The ink machine ate up just as much of his time as well – it was finicky, expensive, and seemed to break at the drop of a pen. Some of the problems were easily solved, either documented by its past caretaker or picked up quickly by Joey. Others, such as the constant leaking, clanking, and falling parts, were impossible to fix by just one man, and so the disgraced animator had done his best to deal with the aftermath of such events. He mopped and drained puddles, applied a generous amount of duct tape and welded metal, and began treating the machine as reverently as one would a child.

Eight full years after the studio had been shut down and one year after he’d reclaimed it, Joey churned out two short, forty-five second cartoons featuring Bendy and Boris. One was Halloween themed, and the other Christmas themed, but he hadn’t finished either until halfway through May. But when he presented them to the closest TV station, quietly hopeful for a broadcast, he was informed in no uncertain terms that “Bendy cartoons are out of business and out of style. Everyone wants to watch Mickey Mouse and Daffy Duck right now. Sorry, but we can’t play your footage.”

It had been a blow to his ego like nothing save the original loss of his studio. Joey had gone back to his apartment and dropped off the rejected cartoon reels, then drove straight to the studio where he had smashed three animation desks to splinters and fumed in a circle of storyboards and sketches for an hour afterwards, scribbling every idea and pose and threat that came to his mind.

He had eventually taken one of those ideas and began a rough animation of it, page by page. It was a simple premise – Bendy getting harassed by skeletons in a graveyard, with Boris sprinkled somewhere in between – but as Joey stayed there in the studio, drawing, erasing and animating through the whole night, he had looked at it and decided it would be his last cartoon.

So he had spent all his free time on that one idea, and nothing else. Over six months of revising jokes and movements, the animator put his passion for his work into this last, wonderful tribute to his creation and by January had nearly finished it. All he was missing was an ending, right after Bendy had fled from a skeleton and ran straight into the camera, coming to rest by a large rock. On a self-indulgent whim, Joey started sketching his own shadow rising up above the character, for a laugh and something simple to wind down after all his hard work.

But as he drew, the sketch turned to line art, and then frames, and suddenly he was adding this last, bizarre segment to the finished reel. The cartoon ended as Bendy looked up at his visitor and smiled, and the projector went dark. It was nonsensical, this notion of a 2D character meeting its creator, but as Joey had gone through the finished project, over and over and over, it was no longer so inconceivable. It was unique – inspirational, even.

Nearly nine years after Sillyvision’s downfall, Joey Drew had the beginnings of a truly terrifying fantasy.

...

Bendy woke up from his fitful sleep, alert and scared. He didn’t know where he was, and his body ached, and something felt...off about the shape of his head. He tried to sit up and smacked hard against the bottom of his wooden shelter. Color burst into his sight and the toon slumped back down, holding the painful bump on his head. 

He blew air through his smiling, clenched teeth and stayed there a moment until the throbbing stopped, then opened his eyes and looked out at the giant dark room. It registered with a click where he was and what had happened, and the little devil leaned forward to bump his frowning forehead to the cold wooden floor. He might have sat there for a while if he didn’t hear familiar voices, voices that sent dread all up his body.

The sound of Boris and – Sammy, that was Sammy – almost made him hit his head again, but Bendy caught himself in the nick of time and instead scooted back to the farthest shadowed corner of his hiding place under the giant instrument. It didn’t take long before the room was suddenly lit up and killed most of the darkness.

The demon stayed huddled away from the light, inky hands wrapped around his drawn-up legs. He hunched up when two pairs of shoes came into sight through the door on the other side of the room. One goofy set of boots stopped where they were while the other, blackened pair strode confidently towards the chairs and instruments on the stage.

“No time to gawk, Boris, we need to find him. If he can sneak under doors and cracks like that, it’ll be hard to do.”

From his hiding place, Bendy could only see feet and a little bit of legs as his wolf best friend started walking around the other wall away from the stage. He held his breath. It didn’t help that Sammy was tracing his ink trail, mostly dried up but still leaving some incriminating splatters here and there.

“Huh, looks like he stopped to look at these,” the musician knelt and the toon could see everything below his neck as he tapped one hand on the stained ground and ran the other over the violin on the chair. “They’re not in the best of shape. Goddamn Joey Drew.”

Bendy watched, in sickening powerlessness, as Sammy worked his way around chairs, looking for dried ink spots and touching each dusty instrument with a sad, remorseful respect. It was by this fact that the devil failed to realize that while this man was on his literal trail, someone else could still find him first. He didn’t see Boris until the wolf was standing right next to his hiding place.

“…Bendy? Are you under there?”

The question and its closeness made the scared toon jump and he hit his head again, causing a loud whump that echoed in the room. He pressed himself as much as he could against the corner as Sammy’s shoes rushed over and then two pairs of eyes shined at him from a crouch.

“Hey there, you little scamp,” the musician offered quietly, and Bendy huffed a desperate puff of air and put his arms over his head. “Whoa, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Bendy?” Boris was looking at him, a bandaged arm cradled to his chest. The toon felt sick at the sight of it. “…Bendy, is that you? What are ya doin’ down there?”

The toon shook his head. He wanted to get away, wanted them to go away and let him be forever, but the wall was too solid behind him and he wasn’t _ever_ going to melt himself again. Sammy stuck a hand out to reach for him and the demon kicked against the floor.

“Hey, hey, easy kiddo,” the musician took his arm back out. “We’re not here to hurt you. Promise.”

It wasn’t very reassuring, and Bendy’s eyes darted towards Boris and his nervous face and his injury. _I did that._ He curled in on himself, distressed but unable to do anything. He couldn’t even make sounds anymore.

Sammy seemed to realize what they were doing, because he touched the wolf’s shoulder and backed them both away from the instrument. They remained on the floor however, and he sat down a little more comfortably.

“How’s this, yeah? Not too close?”

The devil wiped his dripping face and nodded only slightly. He didn’t otherwise move, and the two intruders breathed in the uncomfortable silence.

“Okay, how about this,” the musician pressed a hand to his eyes briefly. “Since you don’t want – since you aren’t ready to come out yet, let’s just talk from here. Alright? Let’s just, I’m gonna apologize first of all.”

Both toons stared at him, equally shocked, and Sammy pushed the hand up through his hair. “Yeah, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize how, how bad it’s been for both of you with that son of –” he stopped and coughed, “with Joey Drew. Obviously things have been pretty…bad, lately.”

Boris looked at the floor and Bendy inched just a tiny bit away from the corner. The wolf looked back up and wrapped one large glove around the man’s shoulder. He made eye contact with the demon.

“That ain’t your fault, Mr. Lawrence, ya didn’t know. ’N I’m sure sorry too, fer not tellin’ you stuff about...stuff.” A watery gleam appeared in his eyes. “Bendy, buddy, I shouldn’t ‘a left you down here all alone, it’s real scary and I’m,” he wiped his face, “I was too scared and you were more scared and we got hurt but ya didn’t come back up all night and I thought, I thought…”

The toon burst into exhausted tears, no longer held at bay by all the confusion around him. Bendy huffed and gasped with him, ink threatening to spill over his eyes. Sammy drew the wolf against him and let him cry into his chest. It was a little harder to do when Boris practically climbed on top of him, six feet and all, but the musician took it with dignity and slightly choked breath.

It wasn’t until he was no longer under shade that the demon realized he had crawled out from the safety of his hiding spot and was awkwardly half-crouched, half-pressed against the instrument. He put his hands to his runny face, unsure.

Sammy looked up at him and gave one of his rare, patient smiles, one usually reserved for a job done exceptionally well, and it was too much for Bendy, who with a loud puff of emotion launched himself into waiting arms and allowed himself to believe he wasn’t so horrible.

They were quite the trio, piled together in a man and toon sandwich on the floor of a forgotten recording room. The walls rang from crying and panting and desperate pleas and promises never to leave each other again, _promise you with all my toon heart, Bendy, just please don't ever scare me like that again._

And holding them both, Sammy gave a pledge to them and to him that he would never again let these children go again.

The ink gurgled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I'm so sorry for missing an update last week, I got really busy with real life and other stories, and this chapter just _would not come together_. It's all Joey's fault, not even kidding. He fought me for his entire section.
> 
> Also sorry it's a little shorter than I wanted, but something is better than nothing, right? Right??
> 
> I want to hug some toons now.


End file.
